Ten Wishes
by RCB
Summary: Once upon a time, Sam Winchester had his whole future ahead of him. Now he measures his life ten minutes at a time. A/N: This is an AU to Season Four and I suppose the impending Season Five in which Sam gets Ruby’s human body pregnant. WIP
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is an AU to Season Four (and I suppose the impending Season Five) in which Sam gets Ruby's human body pregnant and deals with all the repercussions that follow. _This is a Work In Progress._

A huge thanks to **mrstotten** at livejournal who not only listens to me ramble about what I'm working on, but actually _wants_ to read it, and then demands more in such a way that I just have to keep writing. If you like this story, I assure you that she is keeping (me chained up in her basement, send help!) gently, but firmly, on track in updating. I 3 you Magsy.

Ten Wishes

////////

He can't do this. He was absolutely no idea what to do, and she won't stop crying. The constant screaming is pushing him dangerously to the edge. He flexes his hands once, twice, three times before taking a deep breath.

Sam hasn't slept more than ten minutes at a time in the last three days. He has no plan, and he's too tired to even think of one. All he can do is keep moving her place to place and try not to fall asleep at the wheel. Once, a very long time ago, he had his whole future ahead of him, and now he's measuring it in small ten minute sections.

_Stay awake just for ten more minutes. Made it past those ten, try for ten more. Ten more minutes of driving and you'll be across that state line. Just ten more minutes._

_**Come on, Winchester, you can do it. **_

He glanced in the rear view mirror again, fat tears streaming down her face, screwed up as she sucks in a gulp of air so she can start her incessant wailing anew.

Sam pulled over to the side of the road, and turned around in the seat. He loosened up the fabric that was binding her, restricting her movement, hoping a little slack will calm her down.

It didn't.

Sam turned back around and looked at himself in the mirror this time. She kept up her litany while he tried to get himself together. His hands were shaking so badly, he couldn't even turn the key.

After a few minutes, he broke down and joined her. He'd just lost everything.

Dean was hunting him. Them. Dean was hunting _them_. He'd never quit, not even when he was exhausted, a lifetime in hell teaching his brother how to push past pain and fatigue.

Sam couldn't afford this side of the road pit stop. He needed to pull himself together, take his own advice, quit _whining_ and turn the damn key already.

But he couldn't and the more he tried to make himself stop, the more he sobbed.

He lost track of time, but he guessed they'd been there at least ten minutes. He'd become an expert in the measurement of ten.

He wiped his face, and realized that she'd stopped crying. Since she hadn't been silent once since they began their little "road trip", Sam whirled around to check on her.

She was asleep, somehow lulled by Sam's choked, tortured sobs.

He got out of the car, careful not to wake her and paced, running a hand through his hair, which was so long that even he admitted he needed a hair cut. He set his palms on the roof of the car and looked down into the rear window at her asleep.

He was pissed; he'd like a little sleep himself right about now, and then felt instantly guilty for thinking that way. It wasn't her fault, she was an innocent victim, and he should just be grateful for the quiet.

Maybe, before she woke up, he could find some holy ground, someplace quiet and he could take care of…

She started to stir, and he wanted to cry again. So much for peace and quiet.

He opened the back door just as her crying began again. Well, there was no time like the present. He grabbed what he needed out of the trunk, and set everything on the shoulder next to the open door.

As carefully as he could, he began stripping away her clothes while she nearly turned purple with rage. He looked around quickly to make sure no one was witnessing the event but the country road was still deserted. It wasn't something he was looking forward to himself; he didn't want company showing up in the middle.

He worked fast, since she was squirming and making so much noise, and when he was done she had finally fell silent and still.

Sam wrapped the soiled diaper in a trash bag, and ditched it on the side of the road. He felt a little guilty about the littering but there was no way he was keeping that thing in the car with them.

He returned to the car, put everything back into the diaperbag that used to be Dean's duffle bag, while she just seemed to be contemplating him. He tossed it back into the trunk, and when he slammed the trunk lid, she started crying.

Sam really wanted to start again, too.

Instead, he wrapped her back up in her blanket, noting the stains and silently promised to get her something new. Something less itchy. Something pink maybe.

He picked her up, his daughter, the one that should have been absolutely impossible and held her against him. He paced back and forth, bouncing her carefully and shushing her in a low voice. He'd read an article once that babies responded to the higher pitches of voice, that was why mothers could soothe babies effectively, and tried to raise his pitch a little to mimic the effect.

He didn't know if that was what did the trick or not, but she finally, for the first time since she'd been born, fell asleep in his arms.

Sam's eyes teared up again, but this time out of relief and gratefulness.

He didn't put her back in her car seat right away, instead he took a moment and held her, watched her sleep. He wondered if she was dreaming; her eyes darted fervently back and forth behind the lids.

"You need a name," he whispered. "You need a lot of things. I'm sorry about your mother. But I think if she had stayed, I'd have been apologizing for that, too."

The second her body came up pregnant, Ruby panicked and wanted to bail. Sam spent nine months keeping her inside of it; nine long months of using a combination of threats, his powers and finally devil's traps and binding links when he was too exhausted to concentrate any more. She'd nearly escaped twice and every day she threatened to just kill it.

Sam still didn't know why she didn't, and towards the end he was so exhausted and scared of what she'd give birth to, he had almost hoped that she just would.

When the baby finally came, he'd had to deliver it himself; his concentration on Ruby waned and she'd bolted from the body halfway through labor. He'd had to operate then, scared to death he'd hurt the baby, his lifetime of skills with a knife not at all preparing him for an emergency C section.

His daughter was born September ninth at exactly nine o'clock in the morning. The strange symbolism wasn't lost on Sam. He'd been on the run with her ever since, even more fast paced than when he was just keeping a pregnant Ruby on the move.

He had no idea where Ruby went, and he didn't care. He _did_ know that Hell wanted his kid and they weren't getting her.

And really, he needed to call her something besides his kid.

She seemed deep in sleep, so Sam took his chances and placed her carefully into the car seat. He almost started to pray to God that she wouldn't wake up during the transition, but thought better of it.

He was pretty sure that God wasn't gonna answer that anyway. And if He did, it was most likely going to be with fire and vengeful wrath. They were in just as much danger from Heaven as Hell. Actually, Sam amended when he remembered the look on Castiel's face, he was in more danger from Heaven than Hell.

Sam climbed behind the driver's seat once more, and silently promised her that he'd think of a name soon.

Just give him ten minutes and he'd come up with something.

////////

Sam didn't talk much. His audience really wasn't what one would call a good conversationalist, and when he was forced to speak even he was surprised at how rough and hoarse his voice sounded. Sometimes, when he'd think back, he'd realize with surprise that he hadn't spoken a word in days.

Money was tight. He couldn't hustle pool with a baby in tow, and he couldn't stick around anywhere long enough to do a decent credit card scam.

He used the baby as a distraction and got really good at picking pockets and lifting wallets from pretty women's carelessly open purses.

He felt terrible, involving her, but he managed to squeak them by, day after day. As long as he could scrounge up enough for formula and diapers, that was all that mattered. He'd gotten skinny, lost a fair amount of weight from too many times when he didn't have enough for both formula and food, but he didn't mind it much.

He apologized to her a lot. Silently. For all sorts of things, but top of the list was that he'd brought her into the world, tainted and hunted.

She outgrew clothes long before she ever wore them out, and he went to the consignment shops, haggling for credit with the gently worn clothes plus a bit of cash in return for clothes that fit. Even picking things that were a mite too large, he still found himself perusing infant racks at least once a month. He was never a slouch at shoplifting, but even he had to admit that he'd gotten to be an expert at that, too.

He drove at night, and got pretty good at finding places that he could pull over to sleep uninterrupted in the daytime. He would take her out of her car seat for that, and she would snuggle against him contentedly, and he wasn't sure if he was keeping her warm, or if it was the other way around. She wrapped one tiny hand around his thumb, and held it while they slept.

It got so that if she happened to fall asleep in her car seat before he found a place to pull over, and he didn't want to wake her by taking her out, he couldn't sleep when he stretched out in the front.

He needed to feel her hand wrapped around his thumb, and listen to her quiet breathing in order to get any peace. He had to know that if he opened his eyes, he'd see her closed ones.

Sam didn't talk those first eight or so months, hardly ever, but he thought about his Dad.

He thought about him a lot.

////////

Her first birthday was spent in Iowa. Sam pulled over at a McDonald's on the interstate, and bought her a hot fudge sundae. He broke the rules and they ate it inside the restaurant, while he nervously kept looking out the window.

She still couldn't walk yet, and that was all his fault; too much time in the car and not enough time teaching her basic skills. Lately, he'd been trying to teach her to talk. Trying to speak out loud, pointing out road signs, and announcing their location.

She alternated between the special treat and the pouch around her neck. He sighed; she had it completely covered in ice cream, and he'd have to make her a new one. There was no way he'd be able to clean the burlap, and he doubted that sticky, melted ice cream was going to enhance the effectiveness of the charm.

He fussed over keeping her mostly clean but eventually threw in the towel. She delighted in eating her sundae with her fingers, and then dipped the pouch into it, deciding that it made for a perfect eating implement. He had to pull the stern Dad card, because the idea that she'd get anything in her mouth from the inside of that…

His stomach turned a little as he smacked her hand lightly and said "No".

A mother with three kids in tow gave him a disapproving look as she walked past. Sam just scowled at her. Nosy bi-

"NO!!" she proclaimed to the entire patronage of McDonalds.

"Did you just…you just…" Sam's jaw dropped. She finally said her first word.

And it was no. It made sense, he supposed, it was the word that she heard the most of. He was the absolute worst parent in the world. Not that he had any doubt before, but that had just confirmed it.

He closed his mouth as a woman in her mid twenties at the table a few feet away, covered a giggle with her hand. "Sorry," she apologized when Sam looked at her. "I…my niece's first word was 'no', too."

"No-no-no-no!!" she babbled happily, just before plunging her ice cream coated finger into her mouth. They were absolutely going to have to work on using silverware.

"Uh…yeah," Sam tried to think of something to say. Her purse was closed, and against the wall. Sam had no reason to strike up friendly conversation

"She's adorable, what's her name?" the woman asked.

She turned over her half finished sundae, and her angry cries saved Sam from having to answer the question.

He didn't have an answer for the woman anyway.

////////

Sam tried to remember the last time he'd slept in an actual bed and was coming up empty. It could be the whiskey screwing up his memory, but he figured it was more likely the fact that it had been over a year to blame.

His daughter was a year old, had no name, couldn't even take baby steps, and could only say the word "no".

He was doing a bang up job in the fatherhood department, he decided, taking another drink straight from the bottle. He was also pretty damn sure that he'd developed a case of scoliosis from being hunched in back seat after back seat.

He decided that his father had been a better parent than he was being, and the thought depressed him so much that he took another long drink.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd even had so much as a beer, either.

Well, screw it. It was a celebration. The kid was alive, right? Maybe he sucked at the whole parenting thing, but he'd managed to keep her alive for an entire year.

_More even, if you count the whole pregnancy thing. _

That deserved yet another drink.

"No-no-no-no!!" she babbled from the bed. She was enjoying herself, stretched out with plenty of room, and was investigating her fingers and toes. She never got to do that. She was always confined in a car seat.

"That's right, no drinking. That's bad for you," Sam told her, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

"No-no-no-no!!" she went on blissfully.

He wasn't really doing any better than when he'd first started out. She seemed to grow up, thrive in spite of him, not because of him.

She deserved better, but she was stuck with Sam, father of the year.

He felt a small brush against his back, and turned in surprise. She'd crawled over to him, and had his shirt bunched up in her fist, trying to pull herself up to standing.

He encouraged her, albeit drunkenly, but she lost her balance and fell backward when she was almost to goal. She was stunned at first, but then a big smile crept across her face and she immediately rolled over and crawled over swiftly. She grabbed his shirt again and made another try for it.

"If at first you don't succeed, try, try again," he imparted his sage, fatherly sounding advice before taking another swig from the bottle.

_Sounds like good advice._

Maybe he could just start over. She was only a year old; it wasn't like her life was already down the toilet. He watched as she struggled all over again, only to fall backwards onto the soft mattress again.

He waited for some sort of complaint, but she loved it. Rare, mirthful giggles erupted, and she rolled over again, coming at him for another go.

Maybe he could do better, starting now. Sam set the bottle down on the floor, and waited for her to get part way up. He let her do all the work, and just tried talking her through it.

She failed, but she seemed to enjoy the falling more than the climbing anyway. When she started to fall she went stock still with a look of blissful anticipation on her face, and when she landed, she gave a delighted squeal.

For the first time in a long time, even longer than his last taste of whiskey or a soft bed, Sam laughed too.

She didn't get up this time, and Sam turned, kneeling over her and tickling her small bit of exposed stomach. The peals were loud, and he let her be loud for once. He'd covered the entire motel room with so many protective symbols he doubted that even God would know where they were.

He stopped after a few seconds, and she wiggled her tummy insistently.

"Oh, you like that, huh?" he laughed and bent down, blowing a raspberry against her baby powder scented skin. She squealed loudly and grabbed fistfuls of his hair, tugging just a little too hard.

He did it again, and the memory came back and hit him full force.

Him and Dean playing. God, he had to be a preschooler, and Dean was holding him down and blowing raspberries on his stomach.

It hurt, that memory, more than anything he ever thought possible. Sam froze, caught up in the flashback.

She wiggled as if to encourage him again, but he ignored her. A motel room just like this one, Dad cleaning guns after dinner, and Dean trying to keep him busy in the confines of the room. Sam had wanted to go out and play, but it wasn't allowed. He forgot why, but something had happened.

Something bad.

Dean was there though. Made it seem okay to hole up in dingy motel rooms, made it seem normal to clean guns with a ritualistic kind of reverence for the act.

"Da-da!"

He was back in an instant, and had wiggled out from under him while he'd been lost in memories and the old familiar smell of gun oil.

And she was standing.

Holding on to his shoulder for support, she was standing.

And she just called him "Da-da".

She knew his name long before he ever picked one for her. He never coached her, never cajoled her into saying it. Not once. Didn't deserve it, he couldn't decide on a name for her after all. Always thinking of the next ten minutes and then ten more after that. Long roads, trying to stay awake, formula and food in her belly. Too many close calls, with Hell and his brother at their heels all the way.

"Dada-dada-dada-DADA!!" she blurted out, looking almost surprised at herself. She beamed again and bounced on her legs a little. It was a mistake, and she lost her balance.

She was just inches from the edge of the bed, and Sam reached out and caught her before she fell off.

Instead of being frightened by her near fall, she was delighted. "Dadadadada!" she went on happily, while he brought back to safety. He blinked back tears; she trusted him completely, and without reservation.

Sam vowed to do things right from now on. He'd had Dean growing up, had Dean being there for him. He'd had Dad, too. In Dad's way, the best way he knew how to keep them safe. Sam got that, learned it himself the hard way.

She just had him. It wasn't too late to do things right, and he was starting with her name.

"Dadadada!" she babbled merrily.

Time for a second chance. He blew raspberries on her stomach until she got tired of the game.

Sam played with his daughter until the sun came up, and they both curled up together to sleep, exhausted but happy.

She struggled to stay awake, hand clasped around Sam's thumb tightly, eyelids fluttering. It didn't last and before too long she was breathing her usual light rhythmic breathing. Sam's own eyes got heavy at the familiar sound of it.

"Good night, Madison."

////////


	2. Chapter 2

Sam didn't think for a second that Dean would just up and give up, but he was sure that he'd had enough of a decent head start. It wasn't a fast and furious cat and mouse game any more.

They could stop.

For a little while, they could stop.

The playground, the side of a country road, maybe eat inside of a restaurant. Not for long, but long enough for Madison to test out her legs. Long enough for her to reach down and yank up big hunks of grass, and for Sam to teach her not to put it in her mouth. Long enough to push her on a swing, and learn that it's better to do that before dinner and not after.

Her legs got stronger and faster and she tried to outrun Sam every chance she got; short legs working hard and pumping furiously to win the race, though Sam was never sure where the finish line was. He'd catch her before that; swinging her up, out and high above his head while she squealed.

"Dada" turned to "Daddy" and her second birthday was spent in one of those disgustingly cheerful places that had loads of over privileged kids running around. Maddy had hung back, wouldn't get into the ball pit until Sam climbed inside first. Awkwardly trying to maintain both some balance and dignity, he held out his hands and she jumped into them without hesitation.

They battled a group of boys together, tossing balls at their enemies together, Maddy using Sam as a human shield. They won, of course, and celebrated their victory with a small cake sold at the counter along with an assortment of pizzas, all of which tasted like ketchup on cardboard.

Later, he celebrated his own way with the one of the boys recently single mother over a few glasses of red wine, after the kids had fallen asleep.

It was the best day he'd had in two years.

Liz invited him to stay-_ shame to wake up Maddy after all_- and Sam agreed with a ready smile. But as soon as Liz fell asleep, he snuck down to the sofa sleeper and scooped up his daughter, passing piles of toys, family photos and mementos on their way out the door.

The entire house was a tribute to all the things he couldn't give his daughter, all the way down to the foundations.

He buckled her into her car seat quietly, and never looked back.

/////////

"One more! _Please_ Daddy?" Maddy begged. Sam didn't need to look at his watch to know that they'd been there for an hour. It was time to go.

"One more push and we have to go," Sam agreed. He grabbed the swing, pulled her way back and then let go, watching her soar through the air.

He waited until the swing slowed of its own accord. She knew well enough how to swing by herself, but she preferred for him to push her. He didn't complain, there was already a list of things that she didn't need him for and he wasn't in a hurry to add another to the list.

"So what are we doing today?" Sam asked when she hopped off.

Maddy looked confused.

"It's your birthday," Sam reminded her. "What do you want to do today?"

Not enough time with other kids was to blame for her lack of childish greed about her birthday. It was just another day to her, and Sam swallowed back bitter anger and forced himself to give her a smile.

"You're three today, Maddy." Sam told her and held up three fingers. She beamed and clapped, her second hand Mary Janes skipped along in front of him.

"Hang on there," Sam caught up to her and picked her up. She anticipated a tickle attack and defended her most ticklish spots on instinct. "That means you get a present. What do you want to do?" he asked again.

They'd stopped just as dawn had broken, and it was still early morning. He was tired from driving, but he hadn't wanted to stop at the last city. He had a vague uneasy feeling about it, so he'd kept going. Whatever her request, they would have to be quick, or else she was going to fall asleep in the middle of it.

"I can pick?" Maddy asked, looking awed at the idea of being given so much power. He'd made her first two wishes for her, but she was old enough to pick her own now. She almost never had choices, and Sam was determined to give her at least one.

"Yep, you can pick," he promised. "As long as it doesn't break rules," he added.

"Moe-tell?" she asked drawing out the foreign word's syllables too long.

"You want a motel for your birthday?" he asked, moving her hair out of her face.

"Bed and TV!" she said excitedly, and Sam felt another sharp pang of guilt.

"Cartoons and bubble baths!" she went on, working herself up into full glee.

Sam set her on his shoulders. "We can find bubble bath on the way I guess. You want anything special for dinner?"

"Pancakes! And pickles! And chocolate milk!"

/////////

It became a tradition. One request, anything she wanted, as long as it didn't break any major rules. For her fourth birthday she wanted to take a ride on a real boat, like she'd seen on television.

Sam had to make do with a small, mostly deserted lake in Canada and a rowboat. They had a picnic on the shore for lunch, with a nature hike after that. She seemed pretty happy with the arrangement.

Her fifth birthday was much a repeat of the fourth, the outdoors, Canada again, but with an added bonus. She wanted to sleep in a tent. Sam found one at the Goodwill and it turned out to be a godsend. He thought about his father and brother while he set it up, Maddy watching anxiously, excited about a day of roasting marshmallows and sleeping inside of it.

It never even occurred to her to ask to sleep in it at night, under the stars. Night was a time to be on the move, the day was for laying low. That was their life and she gratefully didn't question it.

He knew he was in trouble the following year when she began to actually anticipate her birthday months in advance. Several times she would open her mouth, and then close it again as if afraid to ask.

When he was tired of waiting for her to work up the courage, Sam finally asked a few weeks before her birthday.

"Horseback riding," she announced promptly, nodding her head seriously making her pigtails bounce.

"Horseback. Riding," Sam repeated slowly. They'd watched "Hidalgo" a few months back, he remembered. Clearly that had been to blame.

"If we can't…it's okay," she immediately let him off the hook. She was always doing that.

"Hey, it's your birthday," he reminded her. "And there's nothing about horseback riding that breaks the rules."

He just had to figure out where the hell they could get their hands on a horse.

/////////

He can't come through on a lot of things, but he can come through one day a year. He managed to find a ranch in Montana that offered horse riding complete with a one day crash course lesson on riding.

Maddy was beside herself, squirming in her seat so much that he asked her three times if she needed to stop for the restroom.

"No, _Dad_!" Maddy answered. "But can't we drive any faster?" she begged, and Sam let off the gas pedal.

"Dad!!" she protested immediately, making Sam laugh. He loved this: one special day a year just for her. He loved the excitement, the way it made him feel to be able to give her what she wanted.

Mostly, he just loved her.

It didn't matter what anyone else thought; Maddy was normal. He'd read everything he could in every Christian Mythology book that he could get his hands on, watched her carefully, and she was just normal. Just a girl.

Just a six year old girl about to get her heart's desire and ride a real live horse.

And he felt a rare surge of pride about the fact that he was making it happen.

The ranch was huge, with a long driveway to get to the stables. Maddy was bouncing in her seat, pointing at the different horses and exclaiming about which ones looked to be the best size for her.

The ranch owner had two sons, and they were coming along for the lessons. Sam paid the fees in cash, though the rancher seemed confused when Sam said the whole party was there. As the ranch owner laid out the itinerary, Maddy squeezed Sam's hand.

He squeezed hers back, and was rewarded with a huge beaming smile.

She smiled a lot, even when Sam himself had a hard time coming up with a reason to. He wished his father could have met her. He was positive that Maddy would have had gruff John Winchester wrapped around her pinky finger.

Dean, too.

Sam pushed that thought away. This wasn't just Maddy's day, it was his, too. A day to forget about the past and be normal. Just one day.

Maddy listened carefully from her perch on top of the smallest horse that they had. Her tiny cowgirl boots were placed in the stirrups, and her pink cowgirl hat was firmly on her head. Sam had thrown those in as a bonus, and she had been so excited when she'd torn open the paper that she forgot about his "icky" beard and kissed him on the cheek.

"So are you ready to take Betsy out for a ride?" Hank asked, and Maddy solemnly nodded and gave a respectful "Yes, sir".

They set out following Hank into the sunrise. Sam worried that Maddy was going to have a hard time with the change in routine, even with the nap he'd insisted she take. "But it's dark out!" she'd complained. He had to pull over and lay down with her around two, and that had finally done the trick.

He wondered how long it would be before she didn't want to sleep with her father any more. He also wondered, when that day came, if he'd ever be able to sleep decently again.

It was around noon when Hank declared that they'd arrived at their picnic spot. It was beautiful, a small private lake with plenty of trees for shade. Hanks sons, Matt and David, took Maddy for a rousing game of tag letting Sam just sit on the bank and watch for a change.

It was just sandwiches and small bags of chips for lunch, but it was the best meal Sam had eaten in a long time. Maddy chattered non stop about Betsy, what a good horse she was, how pretty her spots were. Matt and David, both teenagers, were amused with her and chuckled over her ability to talk without seeming to need to pause for air.

"This is the best birthday ever!" Maddy declared, looking at Sam.

"Happy Birthday," Sam told her and Matt and David, upon hearing that she had just turned six, promised Maddy a special surprise when they got back to the ranch.

"I can't believe I stayed up all day long!" Maddy went on, proud of herself. Sam tensed; she was giving out too much information, but she wasn't looking at him and didn't notice the warning look he was giving her.

"You still take naps?" Matt asked.

"I'm not a baby," Maddy scowled before taking a tiny bite of her sandwich.

"That's right, she's six now," David gave Matt a playful slap in the back of the head. Matt responded with a flick to David's forehead.

Sam turned away, and stared out at the lake; he couldn't watch the boys playful scuffling.

"Boys," Hank warned, but his tone was gentle. "Ready to start headin' back little lady?" he asked Maddy.

Maddy finished her sandwich by stuffing it into her mouth before Sam could stop her. Her cheeks were so full that she looked like an overstuffed chipmunk, and he started to laugh until he remembered who else used to have the exact same table manners.

"Manners, Maddy," he scolded her, but immediately winced inwardly. He'd broken one of his personal rules. It was her day, and he was determined to be as easy on her as possible. It wasn't her fault that half the things she did reminded him of Dean.

Or that most of the things that Sam did reminded him of his father.

Maddy chewed and swallowed with exaggerated care, and mumbled an apology.

To make up for the reprimand, Sam scooped her up and literally turned her frown upside down, holding her by her ankles, her hair trailing in the grass, and he had to be careful not to step on it as he carried her to Betsy. The horse watched them approach with a look that clearly said she regarded them to be ridiculous humans.

Sam righted her carefully, setting her back on the ground next to Betsy, so that Maddy could climb up herself. Matt had retrieved Maddy's cowgirl hat, and plopped it unceremoniously onto her head, while she giggled and righted it.

Maddy followed Hanks instructions from earlier to the letter, reacquainting herself with the horse, before attempting to climb up. She needed the slightest boost to be able to swing her leg over, but had done most of the work herself.

She sat atop her steed proudly; the glitter in the pink cowgirl hat glinting in the sun and it was times like that when Sam's heart felt like it would burst.

They rode back to the ranch together, letting Hank and his boys get a good enough lead in the front that Sam could almost pretend that it was just the two of them. That they were a normal family heading back to the ranch, where Jess was waiting with some sort of hot cooked meal. It would be something simple, but delicious, because it was cooked on a real stove, not in the microwave of a gas station or a convenience store.

Dean would flirt with Jess a little, enough to make her laugh and for Sam to smack him in the back of the head. Then Dean would ask what was for dessert.

He'd slipped easily into the fantasy, indulging himself for a few moments when he realized he was being watched. Maddy was staring at him, her head tilted just enough to make her cowgirl hat slip precariously to the edge of her head.

"You okay?" he asked, leaning over and fixing her hat before it fell off.

"You okay?" she parroted.

"I'm fine," Sam answered, a little more defensively than he'd meant his tone to sound.

"I'm fine," she mimicked again, and Sam quirked a smile. She wanted to play a game. Sometimes he forgot she was still a normal six year old, and even the thrill of riding a real horse could get old after awhile. It was still another hour to the ranch so Sam decided to play along.

"Kingdoms of the Earth, sing unto God," Sam began.

"Regna terrae, cantate Deo," Maddy answered dutifully.

"Praises to the Lord," Sam continued, looking forward again. They played this in the car, since she was four. She could recite it backwards and forwards if she needed to.

"Psallite Domino," the tiny voice speaking Latin just sounded wrong, no matter how many times he heard it, and Sam wondered if his Dad had felt the same way about it.

"That carry above the sky,"

"Qui fertis super caelum,"

They played the familiar game, keeping their voices low and quiet so that they wouldn't carry over to Hank and his sons. Sam would say the exorcism in English, and Maddy repeated it in Latin.

They were coming up over the hill, Hank's ranch house in view, when they had just started what Sam called the quick and dirty version. Something that could be gotten through quickly, in a jam.

"We exorcise you, every impure spirit," he prompted quickly. Hank and the boys had already reached the gate, and had stopped there, waiting for Sam and Maddy.

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus," Maddy's response was as quick as Sam's prompt, recognizing his "hurry up" tone.

"Every satanic power, every incursion," Sam continued.

"Why do we do this?" Maddy asked suddenly, surprising Sam. She'd never asked why she had to learn, never questioned it before.

"Demons," He said tensely. He didn't know how much she had remembered about their close call in Houston. He'd assumed enough, since she hadn't bothered to ask questions before.

Until now.

"I know about demons," Maddy answered, giving a roll of blue eyes. "But why do we say words to make them go away? We can just wish them away."

Every muscle in Sam's body tensed at once, his horse seemed to sense it, and startled, Sam gripping the reins tightly and bringing it back under control.

"What do you mean 'wish them away'?" Sam asked, his heart racing, and his mind numb. He'd never used his powers in front of Maddy. Ever.

"The lady says if I practice, I'll be as big as you someday," Maddy prattled on, sounding excited.

Sam grabbed the reins out of her hand, and brought both of their horses to a stop. "What are you talking about? Why are you talking to strangers!?! WHAT LADY?" he yelled, the words spilling out the way they wanted to, and Maddy's eyes welled up at once.

"What. Lady." Sam tried to bring the volume down, but he couldn't make the words come out as anything less than biting and hard.

Maddy's face screwed up, tears running down her face, and she reached up for her hat, bringing it down to cover her face.

Sam knew he should tread carefully, she was upset, and hell, it was her birthday. Not the day for the usual bullshit that was their lives, but he couldn't stop. He grabbed the hat away from her face, and demanded in a no nonsense, barking order that she answer.

_"NOW!"_

The words came out in a nonsensical mess, made even more incoherent by her sobbing.

"Ididn'tbreaktherules!ShetalksinmysleepandsaysthingsthatcometrueandshesaidifIpracticedthenIcouldbe…" One pause while she gulped down some air. "Biglikeyouandwe'dridehorseystogetherandnoonewouldtryandmakeusfeelbadandeverybodywouldbehappytoseeusandnomorehiding." Another giant gulp of air. "Andshe'srightbecausewe'reridinghorses-_rightnow_-justlikeshesaidandthesunisoutandwe'renothiding!"

"What's her name?" Sam's heart fell into his stomach, and his blood ran cold. So cold that he wasn't sure if he'd ever feel warm again.

"Idunnoshedoesn'tsay!" Maddy spouted in a rush. "But it's _true_Daddy! We're riding horses!" she argued again.

"Listen to me very carefully." Sam held her face between his hands, and stared into her eyes. She tried to nod, but couldn't move. "You don't talk to her. Ever. If you have a dream like that again, I want you to make yourself wake up. You hear? You run away, and make yourself wake up." His heart was pounding and his stomach was churning in a threatening way, the sandwiches promising to come back up any second.

"I don't know how…" Maddy started to protest and Sam interrupted her.

"I'll teach you. That's the new rule. No talking to the lady, or anyone else in your dreams," Sam stated. Jesus, it was freaking ridiculous, the way it sounded out loud. His every waking moment protecting her, and now she wasn't even safe in her sleep? His stomach gave another disgusting turn.

"Daddy, my tummy hurts," Maddy said, her face going from red to pale with an ashy overcast.

"Say it. Maddy. No talking to strangers. Ever. Not even when you sleep." Sam persisted, ignoring the roil of his own stomach.

"No talking to strangers, not even when…." Maddy suddenly gagged, and Sam couldn't get out of the way in time. Regurgitated lunch covered his shirt, dripping down, the smell tipping his own nausea over the brink, and he hopped off his horse quickly, barely making it to the weeds that lined the path in time.

Retching up his own lunch, he tried to keep an eye on Maddy, who was crying quietly and holding her own stomach. He noticed she'd grabbed up the reins to his horse though, preventing it from wandering off.

When he was finally finished, he stripped off his shirt and balled it up. She was sniffling profusely when he made it back to her and the horses, and he fished around for a bottle of water, offering it to her first.

"Rinse and spit," he said, putting a hand on her back. Something must have been wrong with the lunch, he decided, looking back to the ranch, though Hank and the boys seemed to be fine.

Worst birthday ever, Sam thought glumly as she then proceeded to blow her nose into a clean napkin that he'd tucked into his pocket as habit. Maddy had always found a way to get dirty, and he'd gotten used to keeping things handy to clean them up.

Except this time, other than snot running down her nose, she was spot free. It was him that was the mess. He took his turn with the water bottle, and then fished another clean napkin from the bottom of his pocket, wiping the tears from her face.

"Feel better?" he asked.

"Feel better?" she repeated.

"Maddy, no games. Does your stomach still hurt?" he asked impatiently. His was still queasy, but he figured he was done upchucking. For the moment.

"No games," Maddy repeated. "Does _your_ stomach still hurt?" she asked, looking at him thoughtfully.

Sam stared back, she wasn't teasing at all, there was no hint of a smile tugging at her lips, no mischevious glint in her eyes. She was being serious.

"Just a little," he answered. Maddy nodded slowly and answered solemnly.

"Me, too."

/////////

It wasn't food poisoning, or intentional poisoning. Sam had ruled that out when they'd caught up with Hank and his sons and rode to Hank's home together. No one else was sick but he and Maddy, and they had all eaten the exact same thing. Besides, Sam stomach was already starting to settle down, and Maddy had color back in her cheeks again.

When they got inside Hank's home, Hank's wife, Rita, was making a fuss and offering Sam their bathroom with some red faced embarrassment,( no doubt jumping to the same conclusion about the sandwiches), Sam ruled out intentional poisoning. Hank and his sons could have perhaps fooled a distracted Sam, but he was sharp now, and Rita was honest and sincere.

He was sick about Maddy being in danger, that demons had found a way to track her in her sleep. He'd have to press her later for more information, find out when the last dream, was.

Why Maddy had gotten sick, he had no idea and chalked it up to being upset about his reaction to her news. Coincidence wasn't an option. There was no such thing in their lives.

Sam accepted her offer of the bathroom to get changed and cleaned up, and Matt's offer to keep an eye on Maddy while he did so. Maddy let herself be led away by the boy, promises of a special birthday present dancing in her head.

Sam cleaned up and put on a clean shirt, wrapping the old one to discard later. It would be easier to buy a new shirt than try to get out Maddy's grape juice, knowledge gleened from six years of experience in having his daughter throw up on him.

He hoped it wasn't going to be another six years before he learned how to get out of the way faster.

He brushed his teeth, and left the toothpaste on the counter, along with Maddy's toothbrush. Finally finished, he left to get Maddy, to have her brush her teeth before bed. Then they'd get on the road so she could sleep, and he could grab a few hours before night fell.

He found her outside in the corral with Betsy. The boys had given her a crown, and a play sword that looked as though it had seen the very bottom of a toy chest for several years at least. Maddy was waving it around the air, and laughing, while the boys were pretending to bow to the "Queen" as she trotted Betsy around the paddock.

The day had been sunny, but a heavy, large cloud started to pass over the sun, casting the day into a gray and muted like quality.

Sam didn't know why, but Maddy wearing the crown and brandishing a sword over others gave him a chill even worse than earlier when she confessed that she'd been having dreams about a woman whose predictions came true.

"Time to go Maddy!" Sam yelled over to her. Maddy didn't even look in his direction, instead she trotted Betsy over to Matt at once, relinquishing the horse to him without argument.

Sam knew that normal kids whine, beg, and sometimes argue with their parents. Maddy's obedience without question produced a weird combination of guilt and pride that Sam couldn't easily define.

Sam led her into the house and while Maddy was brushing her teeth, Hank asked to speak to him in the kitchen. He looked a little uncomfortable, and Rita had a hand on his forearm, as if she felt the need to give him strength.

Sam followed and then waited for it. Hank and Rita were nice people, but they weren't stupid.

"So…usually people book a party and they invite other kids…" Hank began, giving Rita a sideways glance. At her approving nod he went on, "But it was just the two of you, and we don't feel right about taking the full party price from you."

Hank set down a wad of bills on the table between them, which Sam guessed was most, if not all, of the fee that he'd paid in advance.

"You don't have to…" Sam began but Hank started talking again.

"There's a guy I know, a few miles up," Hank began again. "Looking for someone to help out around his place. His kids are grown up, moved away."

"You can't raise a child in a car," Rita suddenly blurted out, passionately.

"Rita…" Hank took her hand away from his forearm and wrapped his hand over hers, holding it. "Mike's got a guest house, a place you and Maddy where you can have some roots. She'd love it there, I think. Lots of horses, big skies, and my boys been helping out over there a lot. He pays them under the table." Hank held Sam's eyes and to his credit, didn't look away when Sam stared him down.

It was Sam who looked away first.

"Thank you for your concern." Sam looked at the wad of bills on the table, before looking back at the couple again. "But we've got a place in Florida. We're just taking a roadtrip as a vacation." Sam lied easily, using the standard cover story.

"She should be in school," Rita said, ignoring Hank's quiet hushing noises. "She should have a roof over her head, and friends."

"This was the best birthday ever, Dad," Sam heard Maddy say at his side, her hand slipping into his. "But that means the vacation's over now right?" she asked him, innocent eyes looking up as she perpetuated the lie.

"Sorry, pumpkin," Sam said, scooping her up in one arm with an easy smile and giving her the code word.

"Daddy has an important job," Maddy informed Rita and Hank. "But he helps Francesca home school me when he has time off. I'm already in third grade now, you know!" she said proudly.

Rita looked visibly surprised, and Hank just continued to stare.

"It's easier for us that way," Sam explained. "The gifted programs in the public school system were lacking, in my opinion. Maddy can learn at her own pace this way."

"I know Latin!" Maddy said proudly, and Hank raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"Deus caeli, Deus terrae, humiliter majestati gloriae Tuae supplicamus  
ut ab omni infernalium spirituum potestate." Maddy demonstrated proudly while Hank and Rita shared a look of embarrassment.

"Don't be a show off, Maddy," Sam admonished lightly, reminding her not to go overboard. Maddy's arms were around his neck and she laid her head down on his shoulder, a signal that she understood to let him do the rest of the talking now.

"I'm sorry," Rita began, "I thought…"

"Hey, I understand. We probably do look a bit odd, what with the car being so full. Just needed to get away from the grind, you know?" he asked conversationally.

"How about I help you with that bag? Since you have your arms full," Hank offered.

They said their goodbyes to Rita, and headed out the back door, walking around to the front of the house. The boys stopped them halfway, saying their goodbyes to Maddy who was incredibly tired by now, which was not part of the act. She sleepily mumbled her good byes back, and then they were off, smacking, running and teasing each other on their way back to the barn.

At the car, Hank set Sam's bag down and gave him a pointed look. "Can't con a con, you know. But you have your act together, I'll give you that."

Sam set Maddy into the back seat. While she scooted into her usual place, Sam turned his attention back to Hank. "I'm not sure what you mean, Hank." Sam gave him a polite, and appropriately confused smile.

"Rich kids don't wear jeans with holes in them. Not the accidental kind of holes. They wear the fancy ones that some designer cut holes into," Hank informed him. "But you fooled my wife, and put her mind at ease about it. You ever find yourselves this way again, I hope you'll visit a spell." Hank said, giving Sam a meaningful look at the last part.

Sam was about to answer when Hank leaned into the back seat. "Don't forget your crown, Princess," Hank said in a teasing tone, handing the paper crown into her.

"Thank you," Maddy answered, still sounding sleepy. Sam could hear the crinkle of paper, as she placed it back on her head.

Hank stood back up and offered his hand to Sam. "Best of luck to you both," he said and they shook hands firmly.

"Thanks," Sam said, the word encompassing all sorts of things. Hank just answered with a nod, and walked away, Rita waiting on the porch for him.

"Can we come back sometime, Daddy?" Maddy asked, her voice heavy with sleep, as Sam drove down the long gravel driveway.

"Sure," Sam agreed and wished that it wasn't a lie. But they never stopped anywhere twice.

Ever. Even when the people are kind and Sam had been extremely careful to cover all the tracks that led to them, and pointed false trails in other directions. Even when Hank and his family would probably let them stay the night in the extra bedroom, and get up at dawn and eat a hot breakfast at a real dining room table.

He loved his daughter, but he was lonely. He wouldn't mind a conversation with a bonafide adult at least once a year. He could be careful, leave bread crumbs in Mexico or someplace far from the ranch.

Maybe….maybe they could break the rules and visit. Maybe just once. While Maddy began her light snoring in the backseat, Sam turned the idea around in his head.

In the meantime, Sam pointed the car south; fall was coming, and it was time to move someplace warmer.

/////////

_"Police have no leads in the gruesome murders that took place at the Dunnan Ranch early yesterday morning. A spokesman for the police department has confirmed that it appears that the Dunnan Family had been kept alive and brutally tortured for nearly twenty four hours before…."_

Sam switched cars immediately, managing to do it while Maddy slept, and when she woke in the backseat of a car that she didn't recognize, Sam added another rule to the list.

"We don't make friends."

/////////

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

///

In light of what had happened to the Dunnans, someplace warmer ended up being South America. There, Sam could keep Maddy away from the media circus surrounding the investigation into the murders.

Thanks to his father, Sam knew basic Spanish, but he was rusty. He and Maddie worked together, practicing their pronunciation together in the car as they worked their way south. As their knowledge of the Spanish language grew, Maddy followed suit, sprouting up a pants and shoe size. It was happening so fast, and sometimes Sam was dismayed to discover that it was getting harder and harder to recall what delighted baby giggles sounded like.

They skirted the edges of Ecuador, feeling comfortably off the grid there, finally settling on a place called Tendales in El Oro. Just before autumn, Sam managed to find them a small, dilapidated place not far from the ocean, and set to work making it livable for them.

Maddy helped, as best as her almost seven year old arms could, learning quickly when to stand out of the way. When Sam let out an angry curse from a hammer strike gone wrong, she also knew when to go off and find something else to occupy her attention.

Sam did the basics; evacuating the previous tenants, mostly pelicans and crabs that didn't go far, but headed straight for the mangrove trees behind the house. He fixed the holes in the roof and floor, and installed doors. There was no sense in doing much more than that; they weren't staying long.

He stocked the pantry lightly with necessities, which included coffee from right there in Zaruma, and better than anything he'd ever had in Seattle. Maddy adopted a pet for herself, a small crab with a limp that hadn't been able to keep up with the others. She kept him in a cardboard shoe box, filled halfway with sand, and a small bowl of water.

They had no computers, phones or internet, and Sam wasn't sure what crabs ate. He instructed Maddy to let "Wild Bill" out of his little habitat in the daytime, so he could forage for whatever food crabs found to be palatable.

On the tenth day, September the ninth, Sam proclaimed the job finished.

"Well?" he asked as they sat in the living area together on the floor. Maddy looked around the room slowly, completely devoid of any kind of furniture, her eyes settling on the symbols on the walls.

"You did a good job on all the holes, Dad. I did a good job at drawing," she pronounced with serious gravity.

"Just for a week," Sam reminded her. "Then we have to leave."

"I know," Maddy's head bobbed up and down quickly.

"Sooner if anything seems off," he went on. Maddy scooted closer and he put his arm around her, planting a kiss on the top of her head.

"Thanks, Dad. I love it," Maddy said, wrapping her arms around him and burying her head into his shirt.

"You're welcome," Sam answered automatically, but the words felt more like "I'm sorry" than anything else.

For her seventh birthday, she'd wished for a home.

///

When they drove away a week later, Maddy was sitting on her knees, chin resting on her arms that were folded neatly in front of her, and staring out the back window.

Sam's heart ached as he realized his mistake. Before, she'd just imagined what it would feel like to live in one place, to wake up in the same spot each day. But now, she'd had a taste of it and they were leaving it behind.

Afraid to say anything that would make it worse, Sam left Maddy to her thoughts until she finally turned back around and sat down, the tiny click telling Sam she'd finally put on her seat belt.

"You think Wild Bill will be okay?" she asked with a resigned sigh.

"Yeah, he was fine before we got there, remember?"

Maddy didn't answer, so he risked a peek in the rear view mirror. She was just looking at him with a pensive look on her face. "Que pasa?" he asked lightly.

"I thought it would be great." Maddy looked at him thoughtfully.

"It wasn't?" he asked, surprised.

"I liked it," Maddy said carefully. "But it wasn't _great_, just different."

Sam didn't say anything, and just waited. He could see that Maddy was still thinking over what she wanted to say.

"I guess any place is home. Wherever we go," Maddy shrugged after several more minutes.

They drove in silence all the way to Chile. When night gave way to dawn, Sam found a quiet place to pull over, and they scrunched up together in the back seat. Like Maddy had said, that was their home: being together, whether it was Chile or Canada.

As Maddy gave the tell tales signs that she was falling asleep, Sam decided that he had been right; this had been a mistake. But not because of Maddy; it was because he realized just how tired he really was. While he had been driving, he'd been fantasizing about going back, maybe staying another week.

Sam fell asleep thinking about his brother, and wishing that things had gone down so very differently. Dean would have liked Tendales, and the beach. He wished that Dean could have been there while Maddy had practiced cartwheels along the oceans edge, and could only imagine Dean's laughter when she'd fallen once, landing in the surf and had come up sputtering.

Sam was home; but yet, he was still homesick.

///

"I don't want to," Maddy refused with a firm shake of her head.

"Get inside," Sam ordered once again.

"No." Maddy crossed her arms in front of her chest defiantly. Sam quickly hid his surprise at her sudden, unexpected rebellion, and tried another tactic.

"It's just for an hour," Sam offered, unfamiliar with the territory of bargaining and negotiating. "I promise."

That got her attention, but one glance at the door again and Maddy shook her head in a firm refusal once again. Her feet were planted, her whole body echoing the same "no" that mouth had just given.

Sam was instantly taken back to a time when she was an infant, and he'd felt helpless and clueless about what to do with her. He shook it off quickly; he was the parent and Maddy was the child. Hadn't he read a book about this once?

"Grab your bag, and get on the plane," Sam said, his voice low, but threatening. With what, he had no clue. He'd never had to punish Maddy before, and still wasn't clear on why she was choosing now to be rebellious. Spanking was out of the question, and it wasn't like she had a list of things that he could take away from her.

When it had been time to board, she'd started up halfway before stopping abruptly and refusing to go on any farther. Now, people were lined up behind them on the steps, some giving annoyed grunt and noises. Sam moved to the side as best he could, to allow them to file in.

"Sorry," he apologized to the man in a suit, who just gave a brusque nod and tried to squeeze both his considerable girth and briefcase past Sam.

The passengers boarded until it was just Sam and Maddy left on the steps; when the last person disappeared through the door, a flight attendant at the top looked down at them expectantly.

Once they were alone, Sam tried again. "Maddy, climb."

Maddy's response was to grip the stair rails so tightly that her knuckles were white. "No."

The flight attendant started coming down the steps; her navy blue skirt and white stiff blouse looked freshly pressed, and not a hair of her auburn hair was out of place. "Sir, we need you to board now."

"I'd like to," Sam answered with fake cheerfulness, while giving a pointed nod to his suddenly willful daughter.

Her fake, plastered smile faded. "Well, what's the problem?" she whispered urgently.

"I don't know," Sam admitted. "She won't move. Not up or down."

"Look sweetie, you either go up, or you go back down," the woman said firmly, looking at Maddy and not at Sam.

"No."

"Going down is not an option," Sam corrected, annoyed at the woman for giving Maddy a choice that didn't exist. He'd spent most of their cash on the tickets, and there was no way that he was **not** getting on the plane.

"Going down _is_ an option," the woman retorted, giving Sam an annoyed look. "I've got passengers and a schedule to keep."

"We need to get on that plane," Sam informed her right back.

"Yeah? Looks like you're the only one who thinks so," the woman said smartly. Sam glanced at her name badge which revealed that her name as Michelle.

"Look, Michelle," Sam began with a smile.

"Great, you can read. That's _awesome_," Michelle said sarcastically, rolling her eyes so hard that Sam swore he heard it.

Sam's smile faded. "I need on that plane."

"I'm not forcing a passenger into a plane," Michelle stated. "So…if you can't convince her, then you can climb back down." She looked at her watch. "And? You've got three minutes."

"You know what? You're…rude," Sam informed her, completely frustrated with the entire female population at large.

"Hey, you want polite? Go take the ferry. _This_ is Kodiak Air," she retorted.

Sam closed his eyes and started to count to ten. When he got to five he heard: "Time's a wastin' cowboy."

He finished slowly and opened his eyes, pretending that the woman wasn't there.

"We need to get on the plane," Sam said to Maddy, as slowly and calmly as he could muster.

"No."

"Maddy, I am your father, and I am _telling you_ to climb up there and get on that plane."

"No."

"Are you afraid to fly, sweetie?" Michelle interjected.

"Hey, don't talk to my kid," Sam told her, putting his hand up in protest before the woman put ideas into Maddy's head.

"Hey! Careful there mister!" Michelle said loudly. "Assaulting a flight attendant is against the law!"

"Are you… I didn't assault you!" Sam yelled back.

"Is there a problem?" a man's voice carried down from the cockpit. The pilot was standing there, and when Sam looked to the right, the passengers inside were watching the entire exchange out their windows.

_Jesus_.

Sam started to panic; they were being noticed. They'd broken was rule number one, and it was so fubar'd that he was having a hard time remembering to breathe.

"Nope, no problem. We've got a young lady here afraid to fly," Michelle called up sweetly.

"She's not afraid to fly," Sam corrected.

"Oh, well now," the pilot said, coming down the steps. He looked to be almost as tall as Sam, with dark red hair and freckles that ran not just over his nose and cheeks, but down his neck and arms as well. "You've never flown before honey?" he asked Maddy, awkwardly kneeling to come down to face level with her. Maddy shook her head furiously.

"She's not afraid to fly," Sam insisted once again, but no one was paying attention to him at all.

Red took off his cap, and placed it on Maddy's head. "Looks good on you," he complimented her with a friendly smile.

Maddy nodded, but didn't loosen her grip on the rail one iota.

"So what is it about flying that you're scared of?" the pilot went on.

"She's not…"

"My Daddy isn't driving," Maddy answered at once, interrupting Sam with her 'little kid lost' voice. Sam blinked in surprise; for once, he couldn't tell if she was faking or being sincere.

"Ah, I see," the pilot answered, his face grave and treating it as a serious matter. "Well, little lady," he began, sitting down on the step as if they had all the time in the world. "I always wanted to be a pilot. Even in grade school. See, my Dad was a pilot, and I learned really early. I flew my first airplane when I was your age," he went on conversationally.

Maddy's eyes were big, and she loosened her grip a tiny bit. "Really?"

"Yep, it's kind of a family business," the pilot explained proudly. "I've been flying people from Homer to Kodiak for fifteen years now. Would it help you to know that I've never crashed one of these yet?" he asked her.

"I've known Red my whole life," Michelle added. "And that's one hundred percent true."

Maddy was clearly still unconvinced.

"Tell you what," Red winked. "How about you come on board, and I give you a quick tour around the cockpit? If you're still not convinced, you can climb down and we'll give your Daddy a full refund," he negotiated and then sat patiently, waiting on Maddy's answer.

"You won't lock me in?" Maddy asked, giving the cockpit door a nervous look.

"On my honor," Red vowed.

"Okay…" Maddy slowly let go of the rail, but ignored Michelle's offered hand. Instead she grabbed for Sam, clutching at him.

Suddenly, Sam felt dizzy, and a wave of unexplained dread and fear washed over him. He'd never thought about it before, but planes, like boats, don't have brakes. As odd as the thought was, it kept replaying over and over in his mind. Sam held Maddy's hand firmly as they walked up the stairs, and he was nearly completely panicked by the time they reached the top.

He gave the cockpit door a nervous glance at the same time Maddy did, and then they locked eyes.

"Okay. If you don't want to go, we won't go," he offered in a whisper.

"I'll try," Maddy whispered back. "Let go of me."

Sam hadn't realized it, but at some point, Maddy wasn't holding on to his hand any more, Sam was clutching hers. He let it go, and she rubbed at it absently. "Don't let them lock me in, Dad. Promise?" she asked with begging eyes.

"I'll stand here. They can't close the door if I'm in the way," Sam promised.

"Okay." Maddy squared her shoulders and stood up tall as if she was going into battle instead of a cockpit. "I'll be back."

It was just five steps from the exterior door to the inside of the cockpit, and she was never out of Sam's sight line for a moment. He watched while Red gave Maddy a complete and thorough tour of the cockpit, and ignored the glares of the seated passengers inside the cabin.

"Feeling better?" Michelle asked Sam, leaning against the opposite side of the door.

Actually, he did.

He didn't answer; however, and continued to pretend that she didn't exist.

"Oh, this is gonna be a fun flight, huh?"

"Yep."

///

Sam buckled into the seat slowly, still somewhat dazed over what had just happened.

"Little lady is quite the talker," Red said, looking a little dazed himself. "Look, best we not mention this, okay?"

Sam looked out over the nose of the plane with trepidation.

"You don't have to do anything," Red promised. "Bill's got co pilot covered. And really, one can handle her just fine."

"Okay." Sam looked back at the passengers, where Maddy was having Michelle plump her a pillow. The other flight attendant came over and abruptly shut the cockpit door, making Sam jump.

"Michelle will look after her," Red promised. "Kids fly alone all the time. Rules are rules, though. Have to keep that locked."

"I'm pretty sure this is against the rules, too," Sam pointed out.

"Uh yeah. Like I said…we'd appreciate it if you didn't mention this to anyone." Red gave Bill a nervous look, who clearly didn't approve at all of Sam playing "co pilot" to appease the mind of an eight year old girl.

Well, not quite eight, Sam amended. That was still a few months away. If things panned out right, she'd be spending her eighth birthday in Alaska.

The week in Ecuador had been a mistake, in so many ways. Sam was sorely tempted to stick around in places longer and longer. He'd been watching the news, stopping at every library to comb the internet, and things seemed to have died down. No signs of demons at all, anywhere. No weird missing persons reports in places they'd been. More importantly, no unsolved murders.

Even if the demons had given up; however, Sam knew that Dean was still out there. But he'd keep looking where it was warm. And he'd never think to look on an island that required air travel to get there.

Alaska, most especially Akhiok, one of the Kodiak villages, made sense to Sam. Small, isolated, and hard to get to.

Sam was tired. So very tired. Almost nine years on the road, sleeping mostly in cars and raising a little girl in the backseat.

If Akhiok turned out to be what Sam had pictured, they were staying for as long as they could. He could hole up, get a job of some kind, and save up enough cash to pay for decent fake passports for them. Then they could go even farther, hide better.

Japan. Another island, but bigger. They could get lost in the crowds there, and he and Maddy had already begun learning the language. It was tricky, and they were both struggling. But they'd get it. They just needed time.

Time. Akhiok, population forty two, seemed like the perfect place to find some.

It was time to start giving Maddy not what she wished for, but what she needed. For Maddy's eighth birthday, Sam wanted a home.

///

"Don't forget Island Air the next time you need to fly," Michelle said sweetly as Sam and Maddy filed out of the plane.

"I thought this was Kodiak Air," Sam checked the sign again.

"It. Is."

"Nice."

"I try."

"Let's go, Maddy."

///

"Zip," Sam instructed while he set the tent up at the campground. For ten dollars a night, and three bucks a shower, it was the best deal going at the moment. He already made inquiries in town and so far the prospects of finding something that would suit them were slim. He had two hundred dollars left, and he intended to squeak it out as long as he could.

Maddy zipped her raincoat, and wrapped her arms around herself. "I liked Ecuador better," she stated matter of factly.

"It rained in Ecuador," Sam pointed out.

"The rain was warmer, like a shower," Maddy replied, looking in the direction of the stream. "Why can't we camp by the water?"

"There's fish in it," Sam answered. "Attracts bears."

"Bears?" Maddy asked, her voice rising several octaves as she looked around carefully. "Out here?"

"Yeah," Sam laughed. "They won't bother us. Relax."

"I'm not scared," Maddy insisted. "But why can't we just get a car and sleep there? You know, inside of metal?"

"No stealing. Not here," Sam reminded her.

"But what about money for food? What if we run out?" she asked nervously.

"We won't run out. Besides, if we get low, we'll fish," Sam decided, nodding to the stream again.

"That's bear food," Maddy pouted.

"We'll cook ours," Sam laughed.

"You don't know how to cook," Maddy said with a foreboding look on her face.

"I'll figure it out," Sam insisted. "You gonna help me, or just stand there in the rain and complain?"

"Dad…" Maddy gave a dramatic, long suffering sigh. "There are _so_ many tourists in town. I'll ask for directions and you can…"

"No."

"It'll take five minutes!!"

"I said no!"

"I hate not having a car!" Maddy complained. "What if we have to…"

"Maddy," Sam dropped what he was doing. He walked over to her and knelt down in front of her. She was getting tall, he noticed. Soon they'd have to get her clothes again. He hadn't seen any sort of discount place in town, too many tourist traps for that. Maybe there would be something in Akhiok.

"We're okay here. At least for a little while. Okay? We don't need a car, we need a boat," he explained.

"Why do we need a boat?" she asked, her eyebrows wrinkling up.

"We're here just for a little while, while I look into work. This is tourist season and we need to cash in while we can. After we save up some money, we're heading to a village called Akhiok. Only way to get there and back is by boat," Sam answered, and waited a moment for the information to sink in.

"Dad?"

"We're gonna live in Akhiok. There's a school there, Maddy. It's small, but it's a school. You'll be with other kids and we'll find a place to live. Someplace with walls and a ceiling," Sam went on while she continued to look skeptical.

He stopped and stared her in the eye. "We need to stop. Save up so we can go to Japan. I found a guy who can get us what we need, but it's expensive. Very expensive."

"_That's_ why I have to learn Japanese?" she asked incredulously. "I thought you were just trying to keep me busy!"

"Yeah… so what do you think?" he asked, finally coming clean. He didn't feel all that good about it either. In fact, he was nervous. Judging by the new streak Maddy had shown at the airport, she could potentially make Sam's plans incredibly difficult.

Maddy cocked her head to the side and regarded Sam as if he were the stupidest person alive. "So…you…" she pointed at his chest with her index finger, "Are going to get a _job_? Doing _what_?" she asked as if the idea was completely unfathomable. Sam stood up straight, feeling completely offended.

"I can do things," Sam defended himself against his own child.

"Like what?" she asked, still appearing to be mystified.

"Stuff."

Maddy raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms in front of her again as if waiting for further explanation.

"You know what? It's bedtime," Sam declared, walking towards the tent.

"It's just getting dark out!" Maddy called after him. Sam quickly finished setting up the rest of the tent and crawled inside.

Sam waited for a few moments and when she still didn't come, he stuck his head out and saw that she was still standing there, weight shifted on one leg, arms still crossed in front of her. For a moment, she looked more like a rebellious teenager than an elementary school student.

The thought was unsettling. Teenagers came with gum popping, attitude, and _an interest in boys_. Teenagers knew everything, and didn't need their father for anything, least of all advice. It wasn't fair; he should still have years before he had to deal with that.

"Hey, I thought you should know that bears are nocturnal!" Sam called to her.

"So what!? I can't sleep at night!" Maddy yelled back.

"Okay, well good night! Oh, and stay away from the water. And the campfire. Oh, and the woods!" he called back before pulling back inside and setting up both of their sleeping bags.

He made it to the count of thirty before she was crawling inside. Stripping off her raincoat and setting it outside, she insisted, "I'm not scared of bears."

"Course not," Sam agreed.

"It's just boring out there by myself," Maddy went on, slipping into her sleeping bag.

"Yep," Sam agreed some more. Maddy laid on her back and stared at the ceiling.

"This is weird," she complained after a mere three seconds of silence.

"Yeah, I know. But you'll get used to it," Sam reassured her.

"I don't think so," Maddy insisted.

"You know what helps?" Sam asked.

"What?" Maddy asked, turning her head to face him.

"If you stop talking."

Maddy turned her head back to the ceiling and gave a loud sigh. Sam laid on his back, and stared as well.

"Any dreams lately?"

"No."

"Maddy."

"No, Dad. I promise."

"Night."

"I know!"

Sam laughed and rolled to his side, facing her. "I can't believe you want to get a job, and sleep at night like some regular person," she complained, rolling on her side to face him and looking him in the eye.

"Why not? We're regular people," Sam posed, grabbing her hand. She flexed her fingers out of habit, measuring her hand against his. He gave a brief thought to bears, felt a small measure of fear about them stumbling into their campsite, and pushed it away.

"No we aren't," Maddy sighed, and looked Sam in the eye. Sam always wondered if the woman whose body that Ruby was using had someone in her family with eyes as blue as Maddy's. His father and Dean didn't have blue eyes, though Sam was curious if his mother did. But he never wondered about it for very long; some musings were too painful to be held for more than a few seconds.

"Yes, we are," Sam said seriously, grabbing her hand and holding it. It was only a half a lie, maybe he wasn't normal, but she was. That was the only comfort he'd had in the last few years, and he wasn't letting that go or let her ever believe differently.

Maddy didn't answer, but he knew what she was thinking. "Maddy, just because normal people don't know what _we know_ it doesn't make us abnormal," he lectured.

"Okay," Maddy readily agreed, but he knew that she didn't believe it. He'd work on it, while they were there. He could point out other kids now, compare her to them and show her that she was just like them. Whatever lifestyle they had to live was because of other reasons, -_all his fault_- but not because she wasn't normal.

Maddy slipped her hand loose, but didn't let go, instead, she wrapped her hand around Sam's thumb and closed her eyes.

Sam closed his eyes, too, knowing that she'd fall asleep soon enough.

///

"Pink?" Maddy asked, eyeing the shirt with a fair amount of disgust. "Dad, why do you like pink so much?"

"I don't," Sam defended himself, putting the shirt back on the rack. "I thought you did."

"I don't think I ever actually liked pink," she informed him, her hand closing around a grey shirt. She pulled it off the rack, and looked it over appraisingly. Sam noticed the Led Zeppelin logo and his reaction was knee jerk.

"No."

"It's a size too big," Maddy pointed out, looking hopeful.

"Doesn't fit," Sam said back, not referring to the size of the shirt. Instead, he meant it didn't fit the image of her being a normal seven year old. Usually, he even dressed her younger, since it came in handy for quick cons on the street.

The fact that his brother had a similar shirt when they were young…Sam tried to forget about that.

"You said we weren't doing that any more, _Daddy_," Maddy reminded him, using 'Daddy' just to mock him. Sam wanted to smack her, and was immediately shocked at himself. He had never hit his daughter in her life and he wasn't going to start now. He had to find another way to 'reassert himself as the authority figure in the parent-child relationship'.

At least that was what Dr. Feldstein had suggested in the book on tape that Sam had picked up from the library that morning.

"Just…no," Sam refused, grabbing the shirt and putting it back on the rack quickly.

"Why am I even here?" Maddy demanded. "You could have just picked out my clothes like you usually do."

"Watch your tone," Sam warned, grabbing a blue shirt off the rack. "Do you hate blue, too?" he asked but she just glared at him.

_Offer your child controlled choices so that they feel a small measure of empowerment._

"Blue or pink, Maddy," Sam warned, grabbing the pink shirt to force her to answer.

She continued to glare, so Sam put the blue shirt back. "Okay, pink it is then."

He wasn't dealing with this rebellious teenager bullshit from a seven year old. It absolutely wasn't happening, and she needed knocked down a few pegs. And screw Feldstein with his choices and hugging it out crap. Maybe she _did_ need a good spanking, Sam decided.

_And she'd be wearing a damned pink shirt when she got one, too._

Sam knew Maddy was fuming as she followed behind him, but she said nothing as they made their way to the check out counter.

"Find everything okay?" the woman asked. She was in her mid-fifties, short auburn hair perfectly in place, delicate perfume wafting over the counter at them.

"Yes, ma'am," Maddy answered her with a beaming smile.

"We don't hear a lot of 'ma'am' these days," the woman smiled back, looking impressed.

Maddy smiled even bigger while Sam handed over the pink shirt. "Daddy says that good manners make the world go round."

"Well," the clerk said, looking even more impressed. "Your Daddy is right," she said, producing a sucker from under the counter. She gave Sam a questioning look, asking for permission to give it to Maddy, which always annoyed Sam. Why show the kid the sucker, and _then_ ask for permission to give it to them? If he said no, then he was the one who got to look like the dick.

Maddy unwrapped her sucker with aplomb, and gave Sam a small, victorious smirk before plopping it into her mouth. He never let her have sugar because they never had time for things like cavities. They were going to have some time now, but he didn't want to spend money on things that could be prevented. He had a financial plan, and cavities weren't in it.

"Why don't you wait by the door, _sweetheart_?" Sam asked, giving Maddy a warning look and vowing silently to make her brush her teeth as soon as they got back to camp.

"Sure, Daddy!" Maddy agreed, and skipped away in the direction of the door. Sam turned his attention back to the clerk who gave him the total of his purchase.

Sam paid in cash, and received his change. He glanced back to the door again, but Maddy wasn't there. A small moment of panic set in, until he saw a blonde pony tail flash behind a clothing rack near the door.

"She's an angel," the clerk smiled while Sam pocketed his change hastily. As he did so, he glanced at the table to his right, the one that had caught his attention when they had come into the store.

"Thanks," Sam answered, wondering if the woman would say that if she knew that Maddy was the prodigy of a demon, and a man with the blood of a fallen angel running through his veins.

He kept up the smile.

"Gotta watch though," the woman warned. "My daughter was an absolute angel at her age. Then she hit puberty and she was hell on wheels." she finished with a weary sigh.

"I'll keep that in mind." Sam glanced back to the door again. He didn't see Maddy or her blonde pony tail. "Those shirts there, are they on clearance, too?" Sam pointed to the rack on the far side of the store as the woman handed him his bag.

The woman turned to look, and Sam deftly slid the white button down shirt that he needed for interviews the following day into the shopping bag. They were on sale, but were located next to the register because they were still ridiculously expensive. When Sam had seen them, he had decided to make his own sale, and the shirt for Maddy was only ten dollars.

"No, sorry dear. Those ones aren't included in the clearance sale," she answered, turning back to face him with an apologetic smile.

"My mistake," Sam smiled back. "Thanks anyway," he said holding up the bag slightly and giving it a small shake before he walked away. He tried not to feel guilty when she called after him to "please shop with us again".

When he got to the front door, Maddy wasn't there. He looked outside, in case she had decided to be even more disobedient, but she wasn't out there either.

He whirled around, feeling a blinding moment of panic that was suddenly interrupted when he suddenly felt a familiar tug at his shirt. "Ready, Daddy?"

Sam turned and over Maddy's head, he saw a woman browsing a rack for her small preschooler. She gave Sam a smile which he returned with a short, polite nod. "Yeah, let's go," Sam told Maddy.

"Daddy?" Maddy asked, raising the cuteness up another notch along with the volume for the benefit of the woman. "Can we get ice cream?"

"Sure," Sam lied, steering her to the front door.

"Yay!!" Maddy clapped her hands. "I want chocolate with sprinkles and…."

"Mommy, can _we_ get ice cream?" Sam heard the preschooler ask his mother as he pushed the door open.

"It's nine o'clock in the morning," the mother answered. As the door shut Sam heard the little boy's voice rise as he started whining at his mother about ice cream and sprinkles.

Maddy was giggling as they walked down the sidewalk together.

"That's funny?" Sam asmonished sternly.

"Sorry," she mumbled, adopting a sheepish look at once.

He saw a small bit of green sticking out of the corner of her pocket. He grabbed her arm and stopped her, reached inside her pocket, and pulled out two crumpled twenties.

"What in the…" Sam demanded to know while Maddy stared at the ground. "When?"

"While you were stealing that shirt," she answered in a mumble, the undertone of defiance present.

Sam closed his eyes and counted slowly to ten. He took a deep breath, opened his eyes and did what any normal parent would do.

A parent who hadn't just been busted by his kid for shoplifting.

"You're going to take this back and return it before she knows it's missing," he informed Maddy as if she had simply stolen a pack of gum. As if she hadn't just expertly removed forty bucks from a strangers purse and then created a clever diversion- _using the mark's own child_- as they left the scene. "And you should consider yourself lucky that they didn't have video surveillance at that place." Her shoulders stiffened a little telling Sam that she had forgotten about that completely.

He didn't even have to ask her if she taken all the cash present. If there were two twenties there, it meant that the woman had four in her purse. Never take more than half, and the mark might think they'd miscounted at some point. Less likely to get caught that way.

It was what he did, after all. And while Sam had never let her actually do the lifting, Maddy wasn't stupid, and always paid attention.

"Why are we changing everything?" Maddy demanded, finally meeting his eyes. She was crying, and it was real, not the fake alligator tears that he'd taught her to turn on.

Sam softened a little, and knelt down. "Maddy, I'm trying to do what's best for us. We did what we had to do, but that doesn't mean that it was right. Or that we have to live like that forever. It's time to change," he said and put his hand on her shoulder.

Sam felt as if lightening had struck him. He instantly and suddenly felt completely claustrophobic, the buildings around them suddenly pressing and close. He felt trapped, and couldn't believe that they had no reliable method of transportation for a quick exit. What was he thinking, leaving them exposed and vulnerable like that?

Sam pulled his hand away and took a big gasp of air, but he couldn't seem to fill his lungs. He thought that maybe he was hyper ventilating, but couldn't get his head around it.

"Dad?" Maddy's voice trembled, and he tried to answer that he was fine but couldn't. He had been kneeling, and he was losing his balance, and elected to let it just happen, and landed flat on his ass.

"Are you okay?" A passerby asked, stopping and looking down at Sam with concern.

"I think my Dad is having a heart attack!" Maddy said frantically.

"Oh my God," the man said, fumbling in his pocket and withdrawing a cell phone.

"No," Sam croaked out. He tried to force his breathing to slow, and held up a hand to stop the Samaritan while putting his head between his knees.

After a few tense minutes passed, Sam could breathe somewhat normally again. Maddy put a hand on his arm, and he suddenly felt it begin anew; the panic and overwhelming claustrophobia.

_Japan? Was he crazy? He would stick out like a sore thumb there!_

Sam pulled away on instinct, ignoring the hurt look on Maddy's already frightened face. "I'm fine," he gasped out. "Just got my cell phone bill," he joked weakly, looking at the man who had stopped to help, one finger still on the number nine of his phone keypad.

"Yeah?" the guy asked, not laughing at Sam's joke.

"Yeah," Sam answered. He stood up slowly, and avoided any contact with Maddy. "Seriously, I'm fine. I just need a minute." Sam said to the both of them. Maddy went to grab his hand, then seemed to think better of it, and stuffed her hands into her pockets instead.

It took more convincing, but Sam finally convinced both Maddy and the stranger that he was fine. Once he did, though, he hurried Maddy along, forgetting all about the crumped twenties she'd stolen.

He suddenly had much more important things to think over. Things that left his hands shaking, and looking for some relief in a bottle of Jack Daniels after Maddy fell asleep.

Without him.

///

"How long have you been claustrophobic?" he asked Maddy over a lunch of burned Dolly Varden trout.

"What?" Maddy looked up from her arduous task of picking out the bits of uncharred fish.

"Claustrophobic. It's being afraid of being boxed in, not having an escape," Sam repeated. "How long have you felt like that?"

"I don't…"

"Maddy."

"Tendales."

Sam blinked in surprise. "Really?" He'd suspected that it hadn't started until they'd boarded the plane to Kodiak.

"It was my idea, but when we stayed in one place…." She went on, hesitantly. "I don't know, Dad. Sometimes I feel like my skin wants to crawl away from me."

Sam thought about that for a bit, and Maddy resumed the picking over of her fish. "Watch for bones," he reminded again. She just nodded, head still bent over her lunch.

"How long have you known about the touching thing?" he asked then. At that, Maddy looked up so quickly that, by rights, she should have whiplash. Guilt was written all over her face, and Sam bit back a bitter laugh.

She didn't answer, and just continued to stare at him.

"I asked you a question," Sam sternly reminded.

"Since I can remember," she admitted, avoiding his eyes and looking into the fire.

He'd already put it all together; it had started when she was born. The way he'd felt when she was an infant and curled her tiny hand around his thumb. How he'd instantly feel a little safer, and protected when he certainly didn't have any right or reason to feel that way.

The day at the ranch, when he'd been upset, and she'd reacted. All the times after that: most recently the plane, and in town. Sam supposed that as she got older, whatever it was, was getting stronger.

He'd been so dead set on proving her to be normal, that he'd let himself be blind to the truth.

"Is it just me?" he asked, not really wanting to know the answer, but needing to.

"Yes, but…" Maddy stopped, and looked guilty again.

"But what?" Sam struggled to keep his tone neutral.

"I…something happened," Maddy started and stopped again. "Something new."

"We can't keep secrets from each other," Sam told her solemnly. "I promise that whatever it is, I won't get mad."

"I know. But you'll be scared," Maddy said, blinking back tears. "Like yesterday."

"I won't be scared," Sam lied.

"You say things, and they aren't true. I don't have to touch you to know when you're scared," Maddy blurted out.

"You don't?" Sam asked, battling internally to keep his emotions in check.

"Not anymore," Maddy admitted. "I have to be close, unless you're really mad, or really scared."

"Is that the new thing?" Sam asked, feeling a little more relieved. Maddy shook her head no, and Sam's relief evaporated.

"What is it then?" Sam asked as calmly as he could manage.

Maddy seemed to debate it, and Sam was about to pull the Dad card when she finally opened her mouth. "I…on the plane. With Red. I wished he'd let you sit up front. I wished it as hard as I could because I was scared about someone else driving. And then…."

"And then, what?" Sam asked, remembering the way Red had looked somewhat dazed.

"I felt…_funny_. He offered to let you sit there. Like it was his idea. But I know it wasn't, Daddy. It was me. I _made_ him do that, but I didn't mean to. I didn't mean to do it at all," Maddy swore, tears streaming down her cheeks. She started to get up, intending to come to him, and stopped, frozen like a deer caught in a set of oncoming headlights.

"Come here," Sam opened his arms, and Maddy nearly dropped the plate of forgotten scorched trout in the mud on her way.

Sam thought up every comforting feeling he'd ever experienced in his life. He didn't know how any of it worked, but he tried anyway. Maddy, gave a small sigh, her tense shoulders relaxed immediately, and hugged him back hard.

"It'll be okay. We'll figure it out," Sam promised and she just nodded, her head buried in his chest. It started to rain again, little drops hitting them, which Sam ignored.

"No more secrets, though," Sam said, tilting her head up with his hand. "Promise me."

"I promise," Maddy agreed at once. Sam felt a strong sense of relief wash over him, and knew it was coming from her. She'd obviously been worrying over it, making herself sick. With everything she'd been carrying around lately, it was no wonder that when she got upset that Sam hyperventilated when he touched her.

"I need to know something," Sam asked, hugging her tightly. "I need to know if you can wish me to do things."

Maddy shook her head, and Sam wondered if it was true. He was going to need practice, now that he knew they could sense what the other was feeling, to get good at it.

"We're still in Alaska, aren't we?" Maddy's muffled voice came from his shirt, and Sam kissed the top of her head before wrapping his coat around her to protect her from the now steadily falling rain.

Sam tried not to feel betrayed and hurt that Maddy's answer meant that she had, in fact, tried it on him. But mostly, as they sat in the rain together until long after the fire had gone out, Sam tried not to be terrified.

///

_Slippery slope, brother. Just wait and see. Because it's gonna get darker and darker, and God knows where it ends._

I'm not gonna let it go too far.

It's already gone too far, Sam. If I didn't know you, I would want to hunt you.

And so would other hunters.

Dean polished off the bottle and then tossed it into the middle of the room, causing the sand crabs to skitter away into the darker corners. They'd been in Tendales a week, nothing else to do for the moment because they didn't have any other leads yet.

"They haven't been here for some time. You're wasting time here."

"Fuck off."

"Dean."

"Quiet, Bobby," Dean warned.

"You need to…"

"Don't tell me what I need to do," Dean bitched, wishing that he had hadn't already tossed the bottle so that he could wing it at the head of the used car salesman masquerading as an angel.

Zachariah brought himself face to face with Dean.

"You've been following the blood trail yourself," Zachariah sneered.

"Dude, brush your teeth. Don't they have Scope up there?" Dean asked sarcastically.

"Let me ask you something, Dean," Zachariah backed up, and looked at Dean with his patented asshole smile, a look that Dean had become all too familiar with. "Those people in Montana…how much fun did Lilith have with them before their poor fragile bodies finally gave out? I imagine the adults lasted longer than the children, but then again, Lilith does like children. I bet she played with the kids longer, and let the parents die first."

"Shut up," Dean said, unable to make his voice louder than a hoarse whisper.

"What do you think your brother was doing while Lilith was having her fun? Sam is completely under her influence now. He's...what's the expression?" the angel feigned ignorance before continuing on,"Ah yes, he's Lilith's _bitch_."

Dean took a swing, but the whiskey was absolutely not a boxer's best friend, and he wasn't really sure which of the two Zachariahs in front of him that he should aim for. His fist passed through air, and when he stumbled, he felt Bobby catch him.

"You know it's true. Lilith and Sam are popping one seal after another, and you are letting it happen," Zachariah said with disgust. He walked away, shiny shoes clipping along the floor. Before he left the room, he paused and looked back at Dean with a sly, sideways glance. "I talked to your father today."

Dean suddenly couldn't breathe, his lungs refused to cooperate and take in air.

"Our offer to you was generous, Dean. Your father was so very disappointed to hear that you continue to fail." Zachariah paused and smiled, "Well, disappointed, but not surprised."

"Don't listen to him, Dean," Bobby said, his voice low and close to Dean's ear.

"Our patience grows thin, and your time is running out. Find your brother, and kill Lilith," Zachariah said coldly. "This shouldn't be so difficult to manage."

"If it was so easy, you'd have tracked him down yourself already," Dean tossed back, unable to stop his lip from curling up.

The blur combined with a rush of air, and Zachariah was in Dean's face again, "Do you really want us to try?"

A small crab caught Zachariah's attention, skittering too close to the angel's borrowed shoes. Zachariah brought his foot up, and the crab, walking with a profound limp, was unable to get out if the way before Zachariah brought his foot down on top of it. There was a dull crunching noise, and the angel kicked the dead body away before turning his attention back to Dean again. "Some things are just better off being put out of their misery," he smiled cheerily, the thinly veiled threat not lost on Dean.

Bobby still had a hold of Dean, every muscle in the older man's body was tense. Dean shrugged Bobby off of him and stared Zachariah down. "I'll find him."

One angelic finger poked at Dean's chest, punctuating each word. Each tap a reminder of the threat against Sam, unless Dean could find him first.

"See. That. You. Do."

///


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Please note that this chapter is rated PG-13, and the next is rated R.

Thanks to mrstotten at livejournal for being an awesome sounding board for ideas. Thanks to rebekahfair at livejournal for betaing this chapter. Love you, dear.

Chapter Four

Fishing was harder than it looked.

Sam discovered this quickly enough while standing ankle deep in fish guts on a boat too small and one completely grossed-out daughter at his side.

"Seriously, Dad?" she asked once again, one eyebrow threatening to go high enough to touch the sky at any second.

"They pay cash at the docks," Sam reminded her for the fifth time. The first four times he'd tried to sound cheerful, but he'd given all pretenses up about a half an hour prior.

"Right," Maddy sighed.

"Maybe there will be something better at Akhiok," Sam added, mustering up a bit of hopefulness.

"It's a fishing _village_," Maddy pointed out, as Sam made one long slice in the underbelly of a very pregnant trout, accidentally spilling the contents all over Maddy's high, once shiny, black boots. She gave him a pointed look, and Sam sighed.

"Right."

\\\

Sam got pretty good at finding the spots that the larger boats couldn't get to. They were limited in their catch, because of the size of their boat, and Sam had to learn quick fire marine engine repair when they got stranded one night, but they were doing okay.

Not great, not in line with the saving budget he'd drawn up, but okay.

When the first tourist eyed their day's catch on the dock on a sunny day in late April and offered Sam money to guide them to the best spots, he jumped on it.

Word of mouth proved to be a powerful thing; Sam was cheaper than the usual guides, and since he kept the tourists away from the fishing spots of the larger vessels, the captains didn't mind passing Sam's name around to the eager weekend fisherman.

Sam and Maddy kept busy, though Sam had to keep an eye on Maddy around the tourists; especially when they pulled out a wad of cash to count off Sam's fee.

In the end, they made as much as they had fishing, minus the wading in fish guts. Sam considered that an absolute win.

"We should think about finding a house," Sam pointed out one day at dinner. Their schedule called for them to go to bed right at sundown, and get up while it was still dark in order to get to the docks and meet whatever clients Sam had set up meetings with. Taking Maddy to work with him wasn't really all that different from other families who lived there and catered to the business of tourists. Sam had seen a few kids playing on the docks, their fathers the captains of the boats that were being unloaded of its daily catch.

"I like it here," Maddy answered.

"We can't sleep in a tent in the winter," Sam reminded her.

"I can't believe I'm going to see real snow," Maddy remarked excitedly, ignoring the entire housing issue once again. Sam let it go in favor of the more pleasant topic of winter. She'd never seen snow and was looking forward to it; Sam had kept them in sunny, warm locales for her whole life.

"You'll get sick of it really quick," Sam predicted with a smile.

"I bet I don't," Maddy insisted. "It's going to be awesome. Can I get a snowmobile?"

"I don't think so!" Sam laughed.

"I'll be careful!"

"Like you were with the boat?" Sam reminded her.

"That wasn't my fault! That other guy didn't know how to drive!" Maddy argued.

"You drove right into him." Sam grumbled. He'd had to pay for both boats to get fixed. Maddy raised an eyebrow and squared her shoulders in a painfully familiar way.

"Throttle stuck. You should get that fixed."

\\\

"Can I go play with the kids, Dad?" Maddy asked sweetly, for the benefit of their audience. There was a small group of kids playing hopscotch outside the diner where they'd celebrated Sam's birthday. Sam pushed his plate in front of him, and examined the kids. Mostly kindergarten, the oldest was maybe first grade.

"Sure, have fun," Sam allowed, deciding that they were certainly all too young to have any sort of allowance money on them. The waitress refilled his coffee cup while Maddy skipped away.

"How was the pie?" she asked as the bell rang, signaling Maddy's exit from the diner.

"Fine," Sam lied while he watched Maddy approach the kids. He'd absolutely had better pie, and wouldn't have even ordered it except Maddy insisted when they discovered that the diner didn't have any slices of cake left.

Every single bite of pie had felt like a bitter pill to swallow. Which he did, with a smile. After all, she just wanted to celebrate him. _"Dad, come on. It's your birthday."_

"I think we're gonna go. Can I get the check, please?"

Maddy paused just short of the group, and held back, observing them. Sam watched her through the large window, curious to see how she'd play it. After a few minutes, Maddy walked over to the middle point, where the chalk lines had narrowed to a single point, so the players had to land on one foot.

Sam sipped his coffee slowly, and ignored the check that the waitress had laid down on the table next to him. One of the kids, a girl about the same age as Maddy, came down the line. When she got to the mid point, her ridiculous shoe, something too high for a kid her age, failed her and twisted a bit when she landed, causing her to lose her balance.

Maddy darted out and righted her, the girl ending up on one foot, and after some debate between all the players, evidently not disqualified. Another minute later, Maddy got into line, talking to her new friend with the un-sensible footwear choice while she waited for her turn.

"You know," Sam decided, catching the waitress when she came by. "I'll take another refill."

He saw a familiar face cross the street and head straight for the diner. He nearly told the waitress to never mind, he'd changed his mind, but he'd already changed his mind once.

Michelle came inside, wearing her flight attendant uniform and started to head for the counter. Sam continued to watch Maddy, but he saw Michelle notice him in his peripheral vision, and she made a beeline straight for him.

_Wonderful._

"Fancy meeting you here," she said, sitting down uninvited.

"I was just leaving," Sam told her.

"With a full cup of coffee?" Michelle asked.

Sam picked it up and drank it down in one shot, setting the empty cup back down on the formica table.

"Looks like I'm all done," Sam said dryly, grabbing the check and starting to stand up.

"What's with the candle?" she asked, pushing at the plate with an index finger.

"It's my birthday," Sam said standing up.

"Where's the kid?" Michelle looked around.

"Playing," Sam pointed outside.

Michelle turned and looked. "She seems to be having a good time."

"Yeah."

"So what's your rush?" Michelle asked.

"You."

"Now, that's not nice, cowboy. I was going to apologize for that day and everything."

Sam waited patiently but Michelle just stared at him.

"Well?" Sam asked after a full minute had passed.

"I didn't say _when_ I was gonna apologize. I'll get around to it." Michelle deadpanned.

Sam really, really didn't want to, but he laughed.

\\\

It started like that, and she never did get around to apologizing.

\\\

The first time it happened, Maddy was playing Go Fish with some kids she'd met during dinner. The family seated behind them had three kids, all under the age of five. Sam had noticed during their now weekly trips to the diner for dinner that Maddy seemed to gravitate to younger kids more than kids her own age.

"Hey, I need to hit the men's room," he told her, getting up from the table. "Be back in a minute."

Sam walked to the back of the diner, musing over Maddy's preference for being around younger children when he opened the men's room door. Someone came up behind him, too close, way too close, and he grabbed them, pulling them inside and let the door close on its own.

"What are you…" he asked Michelle, letting go of her at once. One look at her face, though, and Sam reached over and locked the door.

She gave him a quick and dirty hand job, _talking the whole time_, and when it was over Michelle made a smart ass comment about him needing a shower. "You smell like fish and rich old men. The kind that wear those stupid ass hats."

"Really? Because I was thinking you smelled like old peanuts and jet fuel," Sam tossed back on his way out of the men's room. "I was gonna go down on you, but you really need a shower."

"Please, you love that smell," Michelle tossed back, still buttoning her blouse as the door closed behind Sam, cutting off the rest of her retort.

\\\

It became a weekly thing. Sam started carrying condoms in his wallet again, and set a no talking during sex rule. He even had to enforce it by covering her mouth in the middle, only to discover that she liked that sort of thing. When she was trying to hold out, all he had to do was cover her mouth with his hand and she came apart, digging her high heels into his ass.

He never asked himself why she was willing to settle for brief, quick and dirty encounters in a men's room, mostly because he didn't care why. Truth be told, he didn't much care about Michelle, either, and felt a little guilty about that. He'd really like to have some kind of sex that lasted longer than two minutes, but beggars can't be choosers.

\\\

"Is Michelle coming to Akhiok?" Maddy asked before bed one night.

"What? No," Sam answered quickly.

"She's your girlfriend, though, right?" Maddy asked, her tone way too casual.

"No, she's not."

"She thinks she is," Maddy went on. "She looks at you funny when she comes in the diner," she confided, a hint of a pout on her face.

"I don't need a girlfriend. I have you to keep me company," Sam promised, fixing her sleeping bag.

"But you like her," Maddy continued.

"Not as much as I like you," Sam answered. "Bed."

"I heard they have really good pizza at McKenzie's pub," Maddy volunteered as she slipped into her sleeping bag. "It was even mentioned in some kind of restaurant magazine."

"Yeah?" Sam asked, tucking her in.

"Maybe we should try that place next week. You know, instead of Maggie's," she suggested.

"Madison," Sam said seriously. "There's no reason to be jealous of Michelle."

"I'm not jealous!" Maddy said immediately. "I've just had everything on the menu twice at Maggie's. We should try someplace new. They won _an award_ and everything!"

"Okay, we can go to McKenzie's next week," Sam agreed. "Now go to sleep; busy day tomorrow."

"Dad, if we get people who throw all the fish back in again, I might scream," Maddy threatened.

Sam laughed. "Well, try your best to control yourself."

"I guarantee nothing."

\\\

To Maddy's complete and utter dismay, Michelle showed up at MacKenzie's. For the first time, Michelle ate dinner with them and they shared a pepperoni pizza while Michelle rattled nonstop about grumpy passengers. Maddy was sitting next to him, every second bringing her closer to a convincing imitation of a taut bowstring. Sam had tried to set her at ease, but nothing had worked.

"Hey, kiddo," Sam tried lightly. "You need to start thinking about what you want for your birthday this year. It's coming up fast." Maddy's eyes lit up momentarily, but then she glanced back at Michelle again and just made an odd, grunting noise in response.

"I'm so full, I could burst," Michelle finally said after an hour, pushing her plate away from her with a sigh. Maddy's eyes narrowed at Michelle's plate, and then at Michelle.

"Really?" Maddy asked sarcastically, the first thing she'd said at all, pushing the plate back towards Michelle with her index finger. "Then you should finish that."

Sam could feel it, like a sudden tidal wave breaking over the entire table, and he sat bolt upright out of pure reflex.

"Maddy!" Sam raised his voice while Michelle instantly reached for the pizza. "Let's not be a show off," he said, as quietly and controlled as he could, while Michelle began to attack the pizza with renewed vigor.

Maddy's face went pale, and her eyes wide as she watched Michelle with horror, who ignored their presence completely in favor of the pizza. "I…I…I wish it back!"

While they watched, Michelle polished the entire slice off, even licking her fingers clean. When she was done, her mouth coming off her middle finger with a "pop", Michelle looked up at Sam and Maddy, just realizing they were still there. "What?" she asked, looking immediately self conscious.

"You okay?" Sam asked.

Michelle glanced down at the now empty plate. "Actually…I…excuse me…" she said, going somewhat green and bolting from the table in the direction of the ladies room.

"Dad, I'm sorry!" Maddy pleaded, desperately grabbing at his arm, when he didn't look at her. He couldn't look at her. Not now. Not for a while.

"We. Will. Talk. Later."

\\\

"I'm a freak!"

"No. Don't say that. Don't ever say that!"

"You…can you…"

"You're not a freak, Maddy."

"You can't. You can make the demons go away, I **know** you can. I _remember_. But you can't make people…"

"Maddy. Stop. Just…listen a second."

"Could my mother? Could she…"

"She…"

"Dad? I want to know. Tell me something, please? Tell me something about my mother."

"I told you…"

"She's dead. I _know_. I know how she died. I want to know how she lived, Daddy. I want to know. Please? That's what I want. For my birthday I want to know how my mother lived."

"Maddy..."

"Was she like you? Or was she like me? Is that why I can do stuff you can't do?"

"She was…."

"_What_? She was what?"

"Okay. Just. Okay. I'll tell you. Just- Okay." Sam dried Maddy's tears with his thumb and pulled her into his lap. She'd been protesting she was too old for that, but she didn't resist at all. In fact, she practically crumpled against Sam; her arms snaked around his chest at once and held on tightly. "We should have talked about this sooner, and I'm sorry about that. Of course you have questions," Sam smoothed Maddy's hair down where it was sticking up. Once upon a time, he was the one in charge of keeping it brushed, but just like a myriad of other things, she'd taken that job over herself.

Sam took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

"I'll tell you everything I know about the woman who gave birth to you."

\\\


	5. Chapter 5

A/N:Please note that this chapter is rated R for language, and a theme that contains suicidal thoughts of a character, and some gory imagery. We'll probably get back to simple PG on future installments. Also see note at end about where future installments will be posted. Thanks.

Thanks to mrstotten at livejournal for being an awesome sounding board for ideas, and for giving this chapter an alpha read for me. It hasn't been formally beta'd, however. Sorry for any mistakes that I might have missed.

Chapter Five

Dean woke up next to a red head whose name he couldn't recall _–Bethy, Bev, something with a B-_, a pounding headache, and a roiling stomach. Instinct led him down the hall, and to the bathroom, where he relieved himself in a toilet that was covered in a ridiculous pink shag, while he tried to figure out how his teeth had grown fur overnight.

Once finished, Dean rummaged around in her medicine cabinet. He found extra strength Tylenol, a few Vicadin from a year ago, and a brand new toothbrush. He downed the pills, unwrapped the toothbrush, and plopped bright blue gel toothpaste onto it victoriously. He brushed his teeth with vigor until they felt smooth under his tongue and the taste of old whiskey was muted. Dean gave the pink bathroom another quick glance of disgust; the predominant decorating scheme was various shades of the hue.

Visions of Pepto Bismol were still running through his head when he walked back into the master bedroom where whats-her-name was starting to stir, ruining any chances that Dean had for a quiet and hasty exit.

"Morning," Dean said cheerfully when she sat up. She held her head in her hands, long strands of red hair spilling across her freckled shoulders. He felt guilty; she was both too pretty and too young for him. He began pulling his clothes on and felt a small bit of embarassment over the fact that she probably could have had her pick at the bar he'd met her in, but she went home with him: a guy who couldn't even remember her first name. The large "B" monogrammed on the throw pillow by her feet didn't tell Dean anything that he didn't already know, and he wanted to toss the ridiculous pink square out the window. Someone needed to hold an intervention. _Seriously. _

_Speaking of interventions…_

"Oh my God. How can you…Oh my _God_," B moaned, peeking at Dean's silver flask through her fingers.

"What?" he asked, innocently. "Best cure for a hangover." Dean tipped it back and a flash of red hair and freckles darted past him in the direction of the bathroom. Dean stopped drinking and leaned forward, watching her go down the hall. With one hand over her mouth and the other one slamming the door shut behind her, it was only a second later when Dean heard the unmistakable sounds of the previous night's liquor coming back up.

Dean patted his pockets, but what he wanted wasn't there, so he looked around until he found the familiar metallic glint peeking out from under a pale pink bra. He crossed the room briskly, bent down to retrieve both his keys and boots, and he didn't slow on his way to the front door.

With her in the bathroom, he'd just found his graceful exit again.

\\\

The laptop screen was too bright in the dark room, but Dean just wiped his face with his hand, blinked a few times, and took another drink of his lukewarm black coffee. Somewhere, there was a sign. Lilith had made one mistake, and Dean was sure it was because he'd gotten close.

She was running scared, and she should be, Dean silently raged. He tried not to think about Sam, what sort of shape he was in, what he'd done over the years. He especially tried not to think about the last argument they'd had. He didn't want to remember that he'd called his own brother a monster, and the way the door sounded when it slammed shut. Or the smug look on Zachariah's face when he later came to Dean, and told him that Sam had gone over to the other side.

The way that Castiel couldn't even look Dean in the eye when Dean said he didn't believe it. Like he felt sorry for Dean; as if he were being stubbornly naive. Dean didn't want to remember any of those things.

Instead, Dean focused on the picture that Bobby had sent him. A security camera in Seattle picked up a lucky shot of Sam and a small girl at a drug store. The girl had managed to avoid the camera, but she had pigtails, something he'd peg a wolf in sheep's clothing to prefer. There was only a profile shot of Sam, and Dean barely recognized him.

It was a black and white photograph; Dean stared at it until the pixels seemed to blend together and make a wholly new image. He blinked, coughed, and then carefully traced the image of his brother with one finger. "I'm coming for ya, Sammy." Dean's voice was hoarse, and he tried to remember the last time he'd actually spoken out loud to anyone.

Other than Bobby a week ago, he couldn't remember.

His hand gave a threatening shake which he answered with a careful sip of coffee. Not yet. He needed to slow down with the drinking. It was one thing to get plastered when the trail was cold and all leads were a dead end, but he finally had something solid to go on. He actually had a city this time, and the picture was maybe only a month old.

They weren't still in Seattle, no. Dean knew that if Sam got sloppy enough to even leave a glimpse of himself on a security camera that it was only because he was in a rush to leave. The question was where. Dean had just spent combing a fifty mile radius for clues, and so far had gotten bupkus. He needed to widen the net, but he was tired.

However, to say that he was tired was probably the understatement of the century. There was a time when the word tired held a completely different sort of meaning for him. Now it involved every aspect of his being, from mental to physical and some days he wanted to stay in bed, and not even drink. Just dry out, and then waste away until it was all finally over and done with.

It doesn't count as suicide, he'd told himself on more than one occasion. After all, his plan involved doing _nothing_ as opposed to his other, more creative and violent choices.

So no, that's not suicide.

_"I am sick and tired of chasin' him, Bobby. Screw 'im."_

Words haunted Dean more than any ghost ever could and they rousted him out of bed every single day. His brother was out there, under Lilith's control, and Dean was getting him back. No matter what.

And when he did…Dean had a brief but vivid fantasy of Ruby's knife slipping into the body of the child, killing Lilith and releasing whatever poor soul to go on someplace else. Where, Dean, didn't know or care at the moment.

He just wanted to see some blood.

And after, he'd deal with what was left of Sam. One way or another.

Dean had developed a keen sixth sense about angels. He could tell when one was just behind him, years of practice with Zachariah's smug and sneaky entrances. So he didn't bother to turn around when he felt the barely perceptible gust of wind at the back of his neck, or the tinny sound of strange feathers rustling in his ears.

But when the angel spoke, and Dean heard a voice that he hadn't heard in years, that surprised Dean enough that he whirled around, causing a gust of wind of his own.

"Cas-" the name had started to slip out and then died on Dean's lips when he looked into the angel's eyes.

Castiel, as an angel of the Lord, was never full of emotion. More often than not, the angel was stoic, and if emotion _was_ to be had, Castiel seemed to favor doom and gloom. Dean likened him to Eeyore; a fact that Dean was happy to point out once upon a time, when his brother was still with him, and before Dean's world turned upside down on itself. A time when Dean was a different person, and apparently, Castiel was a different angel.

Dean examined Castiel closely, who stood perfectly still and regarded Dean passively. Dean thought that he might as well have been some kind of bug, for the way Castiel was looking at him. Maybe they weren't friends, but Dean had thought that they had an understanding at least: both fighters, soldiers even, and both with jerks for fathers.

Castiel's eyes seemed devoid of not just emotion, but anything. _Everything_.

"They went north from there," Castiel said suddenly just when Dean doubted if there was any sort of animation to the megatron. Not much, Dean decided; Castiel's voice was toneless and flat, his movements slow and jerky, like a marionette doll being operated by an out of practice puppeteer. "Begin heading north. I will return to instruct you further. I am close to ascertaining their location."

"Hi," Dean answered sarcastically. "I'm good. I got your postcard, by the way."

Castiel gave no indication that he heard Dean at all. "Oh wait," Dean went on. "That's right, I didn't get one. What the _Hell_, Cas?" he demanded to know.

"I have been returned to duty," Castiel said, looking Dean directly in the eye. "Though he is not here, from now on you should assume that your orders come from Zachariah himself."

"That's all? That's all you're gonna say?" Dean asked incredulously.

"No," Castiel said. He took a step closer to Dean and closed the gap between them to a mere foot. Dean had become accustomed to the complete lack of personal body space that angels gave, though none were ever so bad at it as Castiel. As if to prove Dean's point, the angel took another step closer, making the space between them just inches. "I want to say that you need to work harder and faster. Heaven grows weary of your incompetence." Castiel leaned forward, his blank face just barely avoiding touching Dean's confused one.

"What? What did you just say to me?" Dean couldn't believe his ears.

"Remember this, Dean, because it has been branded into my grace. I serve Heaven, not man. Especially not you." At that, Castiel turned heel and before Dean could even blink once, he was gone.

Dean was alone in the darkened room once more, but this time he was bitter and angry, and he fervently wished that he could clip the wings of every angel in existence so they would stop _leaving_ like that before he could get in the last word.

Ignoring the shake in his hands, or the way he'd begun sweating, Dean drank his coffee and sat back down in front of the laptop again. Not that Sam had ever answered him before, but Dean sent the same weekly message to Sam's old email account that he'd used in Stanford and prayed for miracles from a God that Dean didn't even have faith in.

\\\

"He's been absolutely ridiculous lately," Zachariah complained, his nose wrinkled up in a convincing imitation of a human expressing distaste. Castiel watched his superior carefully; he had much to teach Castiel. Zachariah inspected his suit for lint, and brushed something off his sleeve that Castiel could not see. The higher angel had always been fastidious, for as long as Castiel could remember, even when not masquerading as a lesser being.

"He was surprised to see me. I will try and keep him off balance," Castiel answered.

"Given your previous friendly _relationship_, I think Dean will respond to you. Better than me. He's like a howler monkey, determined to throw his feces at me," Zachariah went on, his grace waxing and waning as he spoke.

Castiel said nothing; he wasn't being asked a direct question. Zachariah stopped the careful removal of unseen lint from his suit to look at Castiel. A slow smile began to spread across the angel's face while Castiel waited patiently for Zachariah's inspection to be completed. "Oh. Oh, we've really gotten you back into line, haven't we?" Zachariah asked.

Castiel did not answer right away; a simple yes would suggest that he wasn't in line to begin with. His mind worked hard to choose a careful response.

Zachariah went on, not waiting for an answer from Castiel. "We trust you, Castiel. All of senior management is relying on _you_. I assured them that you won't let them down."

Even though it wasn't a question, it still required a response, and Castiel knew immediately what the right answer was. "You can rely on me."

Zachariah laughed and Castiel took mental notes. Yes, there was much that Zachariah could teach him, and Castiel aspired to be an excellent pupil.

\\\

Maddy finished brushing her hair, and she pulled it back into a pony tail. Her hair was easier to manage that way, and she hated having the hair touching her face while she was sleeping. She set her pajamas out on top of her sleeping bag, and then rubbed at her sore, stinging eyes.

_"She's dead. I know. I know how she died. I want to know how she lived, Daddy. I want to know. Please? That's what I want. For my birthday I want to know how my mother lived."_

"I'm going to the beach to get some water. I need to brush my teeth," Maddy told him, trying not to sniffle. She had quit crying at least an hour ago, but her eyes wouldn't stop stinging, and her nose wouldn't completely stop running.

"Sun's almost down. You want me to come with you?" her father asked. His voice was low, the way it usually was when he was telling her that it was time to leave, as if that was a bad thing. She wished it really _was_ time to leave. She hated Alaska. Nothing good had happened there, and worse, he wanted to _stay_. The very idea made her throat feel tight and she wished-

Maddy immediately retracted the thought. Even though it was just Dad, she couldn't think things like that. She had to learn to be more careful.

"No, I can see okay," Maddy answered. She grabbed both their canteens and the quart sized plastic bottle from beside the camp fire.

"You sure? I don't mind." He was still talking that way. Like he was sorry. Maddy didn't understand why, it wasn't his fault her mother went into a coma.

_"Her name was Madison. I named you after her. She liked pretty much all the same things you like. She even had a pet hermit crab when she was a kid. But hers was named Eddie."_

_"What kind of music did she like?"_

_"Same as you. Rock and Roll. The old stuff."_

_"So she was cool then."_

_"Yeah. She was cool."_

"I want to go by myself," Maddy answered. He looked down at the fire and just nodded. Maddy stood still a moment longer to see if he'd say anything else, but he already had "the look". Like he was somewhere else, far away. She sometimes wondered where he went.

Maddy walked slowly to the beach, not in any hurry to get back just yet. It was getting dark, but she had a full half hour before it became an issue.

_"She had brown hair and brown eyes. She was pretty. And strong. She was really strong, Maddy. Just like you."_

Maddy emptied the little bit of water from the canteens, and held them under the stream of running water. A long time ago she used to dream about a lady, but her hair was blonde, not brown. She's always hoped that it was her mother talking to her. She'd felt safe with her, and was slightly disappointed at her father's revelation that her mother was a brunette.

Maddy brushed her teeth quickly and once the mission was accomplished, Maddy sat down cross legged and looked up at the sky. She searched for stars, but none were out yet. If there was one good thing about Alaska, it was the sky. She'd not seen a clearer horizon anywhere else they'd ever been, even South America.

Maddy thought wistfully about South America and its warm breezes and beaches. She had liked it there. After Tendales they had lived primarily out of the car, always on the move, every day a new adventure. When they ran low on supplies and cash they'd just find a place that attracted tourists and stock up on both.

_"She was excited about being pregnant. I still remember the day she told me. Her face was lit up and she never looked prettier. She was so excited to meet you, Maddy. I'm sorry that she never did."_

Maddy was sorry, too. The first star finally came out; it was time to head back to the tent before her father came looking for her with the Mag-lite.

Sometimes, Maddy heard things. Saw them, heard about them, but smart enough to know not to ask her Dad about them. Like angels and Heaven. A sore subject, one that Maddy had only made the mistake of bringing up once.

So she'd heard of it before, and she'd seen Pinocchio once. Make a wish on the first star, and it could come true. Another thing for normal people; something they did after eating dinner and probably attending soccer practice.

Maddy glanced back. Her Dad was still sitting by the fire, hunched over so much that he looked almost small. Her hands dug under her shirt until it found the small burlap bag that always laid next to her skin. She pulled it out, left her hand closed around it.

It was stupid. The idea that a wish could come true, just by thinking about it while the first star was alone in the sky. A story made up for babies, and kids that weren't freaks.

But still, some wishes _do_ come true. Maddy had just recently learned that fact.

Maddy closed her eyes, and squeezed her hand around the bag tightly. She felt guilty, but it was just a harmless wish. Nothing bad could happen, and no one could be hurt by it.

_"Do you think she's- there is a Heaven, right Dad? Do you think she's in Heaven?"_

_"I-yeah. Sure. I'm sure she's…. in Heaven."_

She wished as hard as she could, twice in a row for good measure and then opened her eyes.

She felt absolutely the same.

She was sure that for a wish to come true, something would feel different. Maybe the star would twinkle, or the breeze would blow, or she herself would feel strange and certain that she'd been heard by whatever it was that granted them.

But none of those things happened, and Maddy quickly decided on the reason why.

She gave another nervous glance back at her father, who was still completely absorbed in staring into the fire. Swallowing hard, she did something she'd never done in her life.

Maddy quickly slipped the leather necklace up over her head, and dropped it onto the ground. She'd never been without one, ever. Even when they made new ones, her father had her put the new one on, before taking the old one off. She was never to be without it, not even for a second.

Disobeying felt dangerous, and with that, powerful. Maddy closed her eyes once more, and wished as hard as she could.

"I wish I could meet my mother someday. I wish I could see her. Talk to her. Just-just _once_."

This time, something was different. Disobeying had made Maddy feel powerful, but she suddenly felt taller, stronger. Even the air around her felt strange; there was unseen electricity that reminded Maddy of the time just before a storm, when shortly the first licks of lightening could be seen on the horizon.

She opened her eyes, and it was gone. Everything was as it was before and her neck suddenly felt strange, naked. A beam of light shone past her, a sign that her father has stopped his silent vigil by the fire and was looking for her.

With shaky hands, Maddy grabbed up the necklace and went back to meet him.

\\\

"Does it ever stop raining here?!?!" Dean kicked the tire of the Impala angrily, while holding his injured hand to himself. The sky answered with a light rumble of an answer. Dean narrowed his eyes, water raining right into them but he ignored it. "Funny." He tossed the tire iron down onto the pavement and watched it skitter across the road, realizing that he was only going to have to chase after it unless he wanted to be stranded just outside of Seattle forever.

"Yes," Dean heard once the tire iron had ceased and the roadway had become silent save for the steady falling rain. Dean jumped and whirled to find Castiel standing there. "By current human measurements, it only rains approximately thirty six inches per year here. However, not that long ago it would have been consider nearly two long cubits, or a half a fathom."

"Huh?"

"I am answering your question. It does stop raining here. If it did not, the earth would flood, and my Father has promised not to do that again."

Dean tried his personal best to think of something suitable to reply with but failed. Instead, he only managed to open and close his mouth several times.

"Noah measured things in cubits and fathoms." Castiel went on, as if that made perfect sense.

Dean continued to stare. He couldn't think of anything better to do until finally his mouth took over again. "You came here to tell me that?"

"No, I did not. They are in Alaska."

Dean's heart raced and he swallowed hard. "What did you say?"

"Your brother and…the girl. They are in Alaska." Castiel intoned again, not looking at Dean but at a spot just over Dean's shoulder.

Dean's mouth went dry but he managed to make his mouth work despite the heavy tongue. "Where?"

"I cannot be sure. That's for you to determine. However, they have not left." Castiel said, just before turning his back to Dean and beginning to walk away.

"Alaska is a big state!" Dean called after him, but Castiel didn't seem to hear him. A small gust of wind directed at Dean's face made him blink involuntarily and when he opened his eyes, Castiel was gone.

Rubbing his palms against his jeans, Dean began to walk to where his tire iron lay. Halfway there, he broke into a light gallop and by the time he reached the tool he was in a full run. He snatched it up and ran back to the Impala with it.

Dean kneeled down and prepared to remove the flat again. However, instead of deflated rubber on the rim, was a shiny whole tire. In fact, Dean couldn't remember when he'd had a tire with so much tread on it.

"Could have replaced the whole set. One good tire is gonna throw things outta alignment!" he called, not expecting an answer, but giving the remaining three bald tires an expectant look, just in case. "Half assed miracle," he muttered when they remained unchanged.

Dean stood up and leaned against the fender. Out of habit, he reached inside his inner coat pocket and pulled out his flask of whiskey. Dean stared at his distorted reflection in the shiny silver for a few seconds before he unscrewed the cap. He watched as the amber liquid flowed out onto the black pavement, which was already darkened with water from the rainstorm.

"Have to keep a clear head," Dean explained to the empty street. "Not like I need this or anything, anyway." He went on, ignoring the tiny voice in the back of his head that disagreed _very_ strongly with that statement. He shook the last few remaining drops out and then brought it up eye level again.

"Know what?" Dean asked of the reflection in the flask. The man that looked back was older than Dean: a scar on his face, and the beginnings of more wrinkles than Dean cared to count. He also needed a shave, and the expression in his eyes screamed "drunk" to Dean. "We'll stop and get some coffee. Saw a sign a few miles back. Said it was the best coffee in Seattle," he negotiated with the silent stranger. When there was no response, Dean screwed the cap back onto the flask. He pulled his arm back, intending to throw it into the field and stopped at the very last second, unable to let he flask go.

"Well, that's just wasteful," Dean decided tucking the flask back into its familiar home in his leather jacket. "I'd rather give you away, than see you end up in some stupid field."

Dean slid behind the wheel, the creak of seat springs as familiar as the smell of whiskey.

"It'll be fine. Just gonna get my head clear, that's all," Dean insisted again. He turned the key in the ignition, and when the engine came to life he repeated it.

"It'll be fine."

\\\

"It has been three days and you have not left Seattle."

"Fuck off."

"You are wasting time," Castiel went on. Dean ignored him, and stumbled on down the alley. He'd gone in looking for the side entrance to the "Elite Gentleman's Club" and he was positive it was around there somewhere.

"Yeah, it's called 'falling off the wagon'," Dean answered. He tried to make his voice sound sarcastic. He wasn't sure if he succeeded or not, and gave the angel a glance. Castiel's face was still mostly blank and unfeeling, but there was a hint of irritation, so Dean counted himself successful.

Humming merrily to himself, Dean continued his search for the door to the strip club.

"You are a functioning alcoholic," Castiel stated, and Dean stopped. He turned around to face Castiel, grabbing hold of the conveniently located brick wall to aid him, and was completely offended.

"I am not," Dean was sure he sounded indignant. Maybe a little slurred, but absolutely indignant.

"You are," Castiel went on. "Attempting to stop drinking was an unwise decision because it caused this overindulgence. We do not have time for this. You can concern yourself with these matters at a later time."

"Did you just call me a drunk, and then say that quitting was a bad idea? Wow, you suck at interventions, Cas." Dean let himself slump against the brick wall. He was _really_ tired and it seemed that he was never going to find the door to the strip club. And even if he did, no way was he bringing Captain Killjoy in with him. The brick was rough against Dean's cheek and he liked that feeling. Everything else had been so numb.

Numb. That was a funny word, Dean realized, and he repeated it a few times silently. It suddenly sounded foreign and ridiculous, and he started to laugh.

"Something is…numb?" Castiel asked, taking a step in Dean's direction.

"Did I say that out loud?" Dean tried to wipe his face with his hand. The whiskey was messing things up. Again. He tried to wipe it off his face, harder this time.

When he pulled his hand away, Castiel was staring at him. Dean wasn't sure, but he'd swear that Castiel looked worried about him. He shrugged that thought off; it was obviously the liquor talking.

"I…I could…" Castiel started to say, and Dean caught on to his meaning.

"Oh, _hell_ no. You want to waste a good buck fifty in whiskey with a hand wave?" Dean asked. "You stay away from me!" Dean tried to push Castiel away from him, but even using both hands, it was like trying to move a statue. Castiel's body felt like iron under Dean's hands, and Dean looked at him in surprise.

"Wow. You do, like, Pilates or something?"

"I can fix you."

"No, you can't." Dean gave up his attempt to push Castiel away from him and let his head rest back against the brick again. He closed his eyes.

"I can-"

"Castiel. No, you can't."

"I don't understand."

"I know."

Dean concentrated on keeping himself still, while the whole world spun wildy out of control. If Castiel wanted to fix something then he could get to work on that, and leave Dean be.

Dean opened his eyes to tell him that, but Castiel beat him to the punch. "You are being selfish. You could be on the road right now. Or have you forgotten about the Apocalypse that you started?"

Dean decided that Castiel was an utter son of a bitch, and wasn't worried this time if he was saying his thoughts aloud. Judging by the way that Castiel wouldn't even look him in the eye, Dean figured he'd managed to get that out.

Castiel turned away and had begun to walk away from Dean when Dean's mouth started working on its own again, with no help from Dean's brain whatsoever.

"Nothing could have gotten down there. Nothing evil. Had to be an angel that did it."

Castiel came to a slow stop, and spoke without turning to look at Dean. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about how my _brother_ got out of the panic room." Dean answered, as coldly as he could muster with a drunk, uncooperative tongue. Now that his mouth let the cat out of the bag, he might as well just keep going, he decided.

Utter silence from the angel, and Dean sneered. "I know. Humans are just dumb mud monkeys, right? Always surprises your kind when we manage to work somethin' out on our own."

Castiel's shoulders somehow managed to become more square, no small feat for the already stiff, statuesque angel.

Dean stumbled into the middle of the alley, took three careful steps towards the angel's back. "What? You aren't gonna say-"

A rumble, flash of white and air against Dean's face and he was suddenly in the very back of the alley, his back against the wall and Castiel just inches from his face, Dean coat balled up in Castiel's fists.

"You started this-you-"

"You kept it going!"

"I had **orders**!"

Lightning flashed across the sky, and thunder rumbled. Black thick clouds rolled across the sky and consumed the light of the full moon. Dean could smell the incoming downpour as well as he could smell the ozone on the air.

"What does that mean? You. Had. Orders."

Castiel's eyes widened just ever so slightly, and he slowly let go of Dean's coat. Dean grabbed his instead. "Don't even think about it, you son of a bitch. It was you? It was you. I thought someone-maybe Zachariah, but no-it was you."

Castiel didn't answer, didn't make a single sound and Dean never wanted to hit something more in his life. "I coulda saved him, Cas. Why would you-"

"I had orders." Castiel's voice was small, and Dean was dimly aware that the moonlight was back, the clouds evidently retreated back to wherever they came from.

"Orders." Dean repeated, his eyes stinging. He let go of Castiel's jacket, and pushed him away. "Better get going. Bet you have orders, right?"

Castiel didn't budge.

"Go," Dean ordered and pushed again.

"Let me-"

"Let you what? _Fix me?_ Cas-" Dean leaned back. The angel in front of him wasn't moving, and he was too tired to keep trying to make him. He was too tired to keep being angry. Too tired to keep arguing.

He was just tired.

He closed his eyes, and rubbed his face with his hand, noticed the stubble was three days worth, even though he'd sworn he'd just shaved that morning.

"You want to fix something, Castiel? Go look in the mirror."

A strange unearthly rush of wings in his ears, and Dean knew he was alone in the alley once more.

\\\

_His skin feels like it wants to crawl away from him, and every thought he has says to stop being a fucking pansy and just take his ass to the liquor store that he knows is just three blocks away._

_Salvation._

_Three blocks to salvation._

_Dean laughs and it sounds hollow and brittle in his ears, like glass breaking against the drums. He stops. He doesn't like the way that laugh sounds._

_He scratches at his arm, not sure if it actually itches, but he does it anyway. When he pulls his hand away, he sees blood and tissue under his fingernails and his arm is bleeding. Rivers of red rush down his forearm and puddle at his feet._

_He blinks and it's gone._

_"Dean. You are wasting time. You are an alcoholic. Quitting drinking is taking away from the mission. Here," Castiel says, and extends a hand to Dean. Dean's tired of feeling like shit and starts to take Castiel's hand when a bottle of Jim Beam appears out of nowhere. Dean pulls his hand back, sure that the bottle will burn him._

_"I told you. You can't fix me." The bottle bursts into flames and Dean knew that he was right. It would have burned him. Tricky angels can't be trusted._

_Castiel, nonplussed, pulls out a scroll, and opens it. He stands taller and begins to read to Dean. "You are selfish. You started this apocalypse. It's all your fault. The angels are trying to merely help bail you out of the mess. Have a drink Dean, end this, and get back on the road. You're a functional alcoholic when you aren't trying to quit."_

_"Fuck you."_

_Dean's scalp itches and he scratches furiously at it. When he looks at his hand it's full of chunks of blood soaked hair._

_"Serves you right." Castiel continues to read. "I pulled you out of Hell; I can throw you right back in."_

_"Then do it!!"_

_Castiel stops reading and rolls up the scroll. He snaps his fingers and the entire motel room bursts into flame. Dean hears the familiar sounds of Hell in the distance and it gets louder with each beat of his heart._

_Hell is coming for him. Dean's heart beats faster, bringing Hell to him that much quicker._

_"I'm not afraid." Dean knows it's a lie and he knows that Castiel knows it, too. But he's sure not going to admit that he's absolutely terrified to go back._

_"The nightmare keeps them from hearing," Castiel says and pulls something white from the ether. He presses it to Dean's forehead, and it's cool and feels amazing. "Angels avoid Hell, if they can. Even if it's just memories. We'll have a few minutes."_

_"You can do it. I'll buy you a little more time. Just keep going." Castiel says and Dean can't answer because that magical angel washcloth is just that damn good._

_"It sucks." Dean admits. He's not sure if he's awake or asleep any more. Either way, withdrawal sucks._

_"I don't know." Castiel says, applying more pressure to the cloth at Dean's forehead. "And I think that's why I can't help you. Isn't it?"_

_Dean's not sure what to say. So he keeps silent. He figures that's a first, and that means he's clearly asleep._

_"Sleep, Dean."_

\\\

A/N #2: I apologize, but I will not be updating this story any longer on . All future updates will be posted to my fic journal at livejournal. The address to my fic journal is: http*.com/8_track_gems*/ (remove the astericks when copy and pasting). Sorry for any inconvenience that this may cause, but I have decided to delete my account entirely.


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